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THE 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


An  Analysis  of  the  Phenomena  of  association 
and  of  Social  Organization 


BT 

FRANKLIN  HENRY  GIDDINGS,  M.A. 

PROFESSOR  OF  SOCIOLOGY  IN  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 
IN  THE  CITY  OF  NEW  YORK 


Ncto  ||ork 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 

1908 


All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1896, 

By  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  February,  1896.  Reprinted,  with  minor 
corrections,  May,  November,  1896;  September,  1898;  July,  1899; 
August,  1900;  January,  1902-,  February,  1903;  July,  1904;  July,  1905 
February,  1907  ;  February,  1908. 


NortoooD 

1.  8.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A.. 


PREFACE 


The  time  has  not  come  for  an  exhaustive  treatise  on 
sociology.  Nevertheless  the  scientific  description  of  soci¬ 
ety  is  well  advanced,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should 
remain  inarticulate.  There  are  principles  of  sociology, 
and  they  admit  of  logical  organization.  The  present  work 
is  an  attempt  to  combine  the  principles  of  sociology  in  a 
coherent  theory. 

Believing  that  sociology  is  a  psychological  science,  and 
that  the  description  of  society  in  biological  terms  is  a  mis¬ 
take,  I  have  endeavoured  to  direct  attention  chiefly  to  the 
psychic  aspects  of  social  phenomena.  Association  and 
social  organization  I  have  attempted  to  explain  as  conse¬ 
quences  of  a  particular  mental  state ;  namely,  the  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind,  which  is  defined  on  page  17  as  “  a  state  of 
consciousness  in  which  any  being,  whether  low  or  high  in 
the  scale  of  life,  recognizes  another  conscious  being  as  of 
like  kind  with  itself.”  The  consciousness  of  kind  marks 
off  the  animate  from  the  inanimate.  Within  the  wide 
class  of  the  animate  it  marks  off  species  and  races ;  within 
the  race  it  marks  off  ethnical  and  political  groups,  and 
social  classes :  it  is  therefore  the  psychological  ground  of 
social  groupings  and  distinctions.  The  consciousness  of 
kind,  again,  continually  moves  men  to  act  as  they  would 
not  if  they  were  governed  altogether  by  considerations 


VI 


PREFACE 


of  utility,  fear,  loyalty,  or  reverence ;  it  continually  pre¬ 
vents  the  theoretically  perfect  working  of  economic,  legal, 
political,  and  religious  motives :  it  is  therefore  the  cause 
of  the  distinctively  social  phenomena  of  communities. 

This  truth  discloses  the  boundaries  of  sociology  and 
indicates  the  natural  classification  of  the  social  sciences. 
For  the  sake  of  scientific  completeness,  and  in  order  to 
meet  the  questions  of  advanced  students  of  sociology, 
economics,  and  public  law,  I  have  in  Book  I.  somewhat 
fully  discussed  the  problems  of  classification  and  method. 
The  general  reader,  and  teachers  who  use  this  volume  as  a 
class-book  with  students  who  are  unfamiliar  with  the  sub¬ 
ject,  may  wisely  pass  from  Chapter  I.  of  Book  I.  directly  to 
the  descriptive  matter  of  Book  II. 

With  many  changes  of  expression  and  arrangement  and 
some  important  changes  of  thought,  I  have  incorporated  in 
this  work  both  a  pamphlet  on  “  The  Theory  of  Sociology,” 
which  was  published  in  July,  1894,  as  a  supplement  to 
Vol.  V.,  No.  I.,  of  the  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of 
Political  and  Social  Science,  and  also  the  substance  of  arti¬ 
cles  on  social  theory  that  I  have  from  time  to  time  con¬ 
tributed  to  periodicals. 

I  am  under  many  obligations  to  my  colleagues  of  the 
Faculty  of  Political  Science  for  encouragement  and  as¬ 
sistance  ;  to  my  ever  kind  and  helpful  friend  Professor 
Simon  N.  Patten  for  valuable  suggestions  and  especially 
for  an  opportunity  to  examine  advance  sheets  of  his 
monograph  on  “  The  Theory  of  Social  Forces  ” ;  to  Dr. 
Samuel  M.  Lindsay  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  for 
reading  my  proof-sheets ;  and  to  many  of  my  former  stu¬ 
dents,  especially  Miss  Jane  Louise  Brownell,  M.A.,  for- 


PREFACE 


Vll 


merly  Fellow  in  Political  Science  in  Bryn  Mawr  College  ; 
Miss  Bertha  Haven  Putnam,  A.B. ;  Professor  William  Z. 
Ripley,  Ph.D.,  of  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technol¬ 
ogy,  and  Professor  John  Franklin  Crowell,  Litt.D.,  of 
Smith  College ;  all  of  whom  have  rendered  me  important 
assistance  in  various  ways. 

My  heaviest  obligation,  however,  is  to  Miss  Brownell, 
who  has  helped  me  at  every  stage  of  my  work,  from  the 
collection  of  material  to  the  verification  of  references  and 
the  revision  of  manuscript. 


New  York,  February,  1896. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


The  publication  of  a  third  edition  of  this  book  offers 
an  opportunity  for  saying  a  few  words  in  further  expla¬ 
nation  of  the  sociological  views  that  are  here  presented. 
I  have  not  at  any  time  supposed  that  these  views  would 
immediately  be  adopted.  Every  scholar  who  is  compe¬ 
tent  to  discuss  sociological  theory  has  himself  arrived  at 
carefully  matured  conclusions  which  he  must  not  hastily 
modify  or  abandon.  Any  conceptions  or  conclusions  of 
mine  that  differ  from  those  of  other  writers  must,  with 
theirs,  remain  in  controversy  until  impartial  criticism 
sifts  what  is  true  and  useful  in  them  all  from  what  is 
untrue  or  worthless. 

The  central  doctrine  of  this  book  is  that  the  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind  distinguishes  social  from  non-social  phe¬ 
nomena,  and  is  the  principal  cause  of  social  conduct. 
Four  objections  have  been  made  to  this  thesis.  They  are, 
namely  :  First,  that  the  phrase,  “  the  consciousness  of 
kind,”  is  only  another  name  for  “fellow-feeling,”  and 
that,  therefore,  no  new  discovery  has  been  made  in  soci¬ 
ology  ;  second,  that  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  a  biological 
rather  than  a  sociological  fact,  and  that  it  therefore  does 
not  differentiate  sociology  from  biology ;  third,  that  the 
consciousness  of  kind  is  only  a  metaphysical  notion  ;  and 
fourth,  that  even  if  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  a  social 


IX 


X 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


fact  of  some  sort,  it  is  at  any  rate  not  a  social  force, 
and  is  therefore  not  a  true  cause  of  social  phenomena. 

To  the  first  of  these  objections  it  is  a  sufficient  reply 
to  recall  an  article  in  which,  a  year  before  this  volume 
was  published,  I  said :  “  This  consciousness  of  kind  is 

the  elementary,  the  generic  social  fact ;  it  is  sympathy, 
fellow-feeling  in  the  literal  as  distinguished  from  the 
popular  sense  of  the  word.”1  At  the  same  time  I  inti¬ 
mated  that  there  was  more  to  be  discovered  in  fellow- 
feeling  than  previous  writers  had  observed.  If  I  had  not 
believed  that  the  facts  called  for  a  new  description,  I 
should  have  put  into  my  first  chapter  a  paragraph  con¬ 
tending  that  Adam  Smith  was  the  true  founder  of  soci¬ 
ology,  because  it  was  from  Smith’s  “  Theory  of  Moral 
Sentiments  ”  that  I  derived  the  suggestion  which  pres¬ 
ently  grew  into  my  conception  of  the  consciousness  of 
kind.  Were  I  now  re-writing  the  sketch  of  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  social  theory,  I  think  that  I  should  indeed  claim 
for  Adam  Smith  the  first  place  among  sociologists.  The 
recently  recovered  notes  of  Smith’s  lectures  on  “Jus¬ 
tice,  Police,  Revenue,  and  Arms”  show  that  Smith  had 
sketched  a  complete  system  of  social  science.  The  sys¬ 
tem  is  structurally  weak,  however,  because  this  great  but 
always  cautious  philosopher  was  evidently  never  quite 
sure  in  his  own  mind  whether  the  prime  cause  of  social 
relations  should  be  sought  in  that  generic  sympathy 
which  is  discoursed  of  in  “  The  Theory  of  Moral  Senti¬ 
ments,”  or  in  the  advantages  of  mutual  aid  which  are 

1  “Sociology  and  the  Abstract  Sciences;  The  Origin  of  the  Social 
Feelings,”  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science,  Vol.  V.,  No.  5,  March,  1895,  p.  750. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


XI 


described  in  “The  Wealth  of  Nations.”  In  the  years 
that  have  passed  since  Adam  Smith’s  death,  thought  has 
been  busy  with  the  logical  organization  of  the  social 
sciences,  and  it  is  possible  for  us  now  to  shun  some 
errors  that  he  did  not  avoid.  The  most  important  claim, 
then,  that  I  make  for  the  sociological  theory  that  is  here 
presented,  is  that  I  have  throughout  insisted  that  fellow- 
feeling  is  a  cause  in  social  phenomena,  and  that  mutual 
aid  is  an  effect.  It  is  upon  this  fundamental  position 
that  I  find  myself  in  disagreement  with  those  who  hold 
that  mutual  aid  is  primary.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  I  be¬ 
lieve  that  the  true  point  of  departure  for  sociology  is 
found  in  “The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments  ”  rather  than 
in  “The  Wealth  of  Nations.”  The  stone  that  the  builders 
of  political  economy  rejected,  will,  I  believe,  become  the 
head  of  the  corner  for  sociology. 

From  the  first,  however,  I  have  supposed  that  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  as  I  conceive  it,  contains  some  elements 
that  were  not  present  in  Adam  Smith’s  notion  of  “sym¬ 
pathy,”  and  for  this  reason  I  have  not  thought  that  I 
ought  to  credit  the  central  idea  of  my  book  to  him.  This 
consideration  brings  me  to  the  three  remaining  objections 
to  my  thesis. 

I  cannot  admit  that  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  merely 
a  biological  fact.  Differences  and  likenesses  of  kind  are 
legitimately  facts  of  biology,  but  a  consciousness  of  differ¬ 
ence  or  of  likeness  must  be  called  a  fact  of  psychology 
or  a  fact  of  sociology,  if  these  sciences  are  recognized. 
So  much  I  think  will  be  admitted  to  be  reasonably  clear. 
To  discriminate  sociology  from  psychology  is  perhaps 
more  difficult.  All  the  phenomena  of  mind  are  found 


Xii  PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 

in  individual  minds.  Certain  phases  of  the  individual 
consciousness,  however,  have  for  many  generations  been 
known  as  social,  and  other  phases  have  been  known  as 
anti-social,  states  of  mind.  The  social  states  of  the  mind, 
the  conduct  that  results  from  them,  and  the  relations  of 
individuals  to  one  another  that  have  been  established  by 
social  conduct,  may  collectively  be  called  the  social  phe¬ 
nomena  of  mind.  In  the  broadest  sense  of  the  word, 
psychology  is  the  science  of  all  mental  phenomena,  in¬ 
cluding  social  conduct  and  relations.  In  a  narrower 
sense,  it  is  the  science  of  the  states,  only,  of  the  mind 
itself.  In  actual  scientific  research  and  exposition,  psy¬ 
chology  is  restricted  to  the  narrower  field,  while  the 
conduct  that  is  caused  by  social  states  of  mind  and  the 
relations  among  individuals  and  groups  of  individuals 
that  are  created  by  habitual  conduct,  are  handed  over  to 
sociology.  To  give  scientific  precision  to  this  demarca¬ 
tion,  it  is  necessary  to  define  a  social  state  of  the  mind, 
which  is  the  phenomenon  that  psychology  and  sociology 
have  in  common.  According  to  the  argument  of  this 
volume,  the  simplest  known  or  conceivable  social  state 
of  the  mind  is  a  sympathetic  consciousness  of  resem¬ 
blance  between  the  self  and  the  not-self.  Consequently, 
a  consciousness  of  difference  between  the  self  and  the 
not-self  is  a  fact  of  psychology  only ;  while  a  sympathetic 
consciousness  of  resemblance  between  the  self  and  the  not- 
self  is  both  a  fact  of  psychology  and  a  datum  of  sociology. 
In  other  words,  the  apprehension  by  the  self  of  its  own 
image  in  the  not-self  seems  to  me  to  be  the  natural  point 
of  departure  of  sociology  from  psychology,  if  there  is, 
indeed,  a  branching  of  the  one  science  from  the  other 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


Till 


which  it  is  desirable  to  recognize  by  the  use  of  these 
two  names. 

The  attempt  to  confound  the  consciousness  of  kind 
with  sexual  reproduction,  which  has  here  and  there  been 
made,  hardly  calls  for  serious  consideration.  The  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  is  different  from  sexual  instinct,  and 
normally  controls  it.  Living  creatures  do  not  commonly 
mate  with  individuals  of  other  than  their  own  species. 
White  men  do  not  usually  marry  black  women ;  gentle¬ 
men  do  not  habitually  wed  their  cooks  or  ladies  their 
coachmen.  In  fact,  upon  the  common  testimony  of  man¬ 
kind,  there  is  no  sphere  in  which  the  consciousness  of 
kind  is  on  the  whole  more  tyrannous  than  it  is  in  that 
of  the  sexual  relations.  It  permits  or  encourages  the 
union  of  individuals  who  are  in  some  degree  different  or 
unequal,  but  it  rigorously  fixes  the  permissible  degree, 
and  regards  the  union  of  those  who  differ  in  excess  as 
symptomatic  of  degeneration. 

Not  more  deserving  of  consideration  is  the  opposite 
assertion  that  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  only  a  meta¬ 
physical  abstraction.  A  sufficient  demonstration  of  its 
concrete  reality  is  afforded  in  the  proof  that  it  is  also  a 
socializing  force.  I  could  not  adopt  Adam  Smith’s  word 
“sympathy,”  or  the  familiar  term  “fellow-feeling,”  as  a 
name  for  the  primary  social  phenomenon,  because  it  was 
necessary  to  recognize  the  element  of  perception.  At 
the  same  time  I  wished  to  avoid  any  exclusion  of  the 
element  of  feeling,  and  so  I  could  not  choose  the  phrase 
“perception  of  kind”  or  “idea  of  kind.”  The  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind,  then,  as  I  conceive  it,  is  at  once  perception 
and  feeling.  To  deny  that  there  is  a  reality  correspond- 


XIV 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


ing  to  this  conception  is  to  deny  such  tremendous  social 
facts  as  race  hatreds  and  class  prejudices.  But  a  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  that  includes  feeling  with  perception  is 
dynamic.  It  is  a  power,  as  real  as  that  consciousness  of 
disciplined  strength  which  fights  victorious  battles,  or  as 
that  consciousness  of  weakness  and  demoralization  which 
hastens  inglorious  retreat.  As  I  understand  it,  then,  the 
consciousness  of  kind  is  both  a  differentiating  mark  of 
social  phenomena  and  a  true  socializing  force. 

The  methods  of  its  action,  however,  are  often  ex¬ 
tremely  subtle,  and  are  usually  complicated.  I  am  well 
aware  that  I  have  made  only  a  mere  beginning  in  the 
work  of  understanding  and  explaining  them.  The  trouble 
is  that  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  an  ever-changing 
state  of  mind.  It  is  not  to  be  once  and  for  all  identified 
with  the  consciousness  of  species,  or  of  race,  or  of  class, 
or  of  similarity  of  moral  nature,  although  at  any  given 
moment  it  may,  in  fact,  be  identical  with  any  one  of 
these.  It  is  a  thing  of  degree,  and  like  all  phenomena 
of  degree  it  loses  somewhat  of  intensity  as  it  expands, 
and  it  becomes  intense  as  it  becomes  exclusive.  The 
shifting  elements  of  circumstance  and  the  varying  moods 
of  personality  must  be  taken  into  account  before  we  can 
tell  how  the  consciousness  of  kind  will  form  itself  and 
will  direct  action  in  any  concrete  case.  An  artistic  tem¬ 
perament,  for  example,  may  be  strongly  attracted  by  like 
temperaments  in  another  nation,  or  even  race,  than  its 
own.  A  philanthropic  enthusiast  may  be  more  strongly 
drawn  to  kindred  natures  among  the  destitute,  than  to 
acquaintances  of  his  own  social  rank. 

Forming  and  acting  under  varying  conditions,  the  con- 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


XV 


sciousness  of  kind  thus  assumes  protean  modes  which  may¬ 
be  called  the  social  forces.  My  analysis  of  these  in  Book 
IV.  is  a  very  slight  and  possibly  only  a  provisional  con¬ 
tribution  to  the  study  of  social  dynamics.  It  was  espe¬ 
cially  to  this  part  of  sociology  that  I  referred  in  the  first 
sentence  of  my  first  preface.  I  hope  ultimately  to  com¬ 
plete  a  much  fuller  account  of  social  law  and  cause. 
At  present  I  wish  only  to  say  that  I  think  it  would  be 
helpful  if  we  could  agree  to  make  a  distinction  between 
socializing  forces  and  social  forces.  The  designation, 
“  socializing  forces  ”  I  would  apply  to  all  forces  that 
act  towards  social  ends,  —  that  create  association,  perfect 
social  organization,  and  develop  a  social  nature.  They 
may  arise  outside  of  society  or  within  it.  Soil  and  cli¬ 
mate,  for  example,  and  the  appetites  and  passions  of 
individuals  are  often  socializing  forces.  The  designation 
“  social  forces  ”  I  would  apply  only  to  forces  that  origi¬ 
nate  in  society,  but  to  them  I  would  always  apply  it, 
whether  they  act  towards  social,  or  towards  non-social, 
or  even  anti-social,  ends.  The  attitude  of  the  crowd 
towards  the  individual,  for  example,  is  a  social  force,  so 
is  public  opinion,  so  is  a  popular  ideal.  The  original 
and  valuable  writings  of  Professor  Ward  and  of  Professor 
Patten  seem  to  me  to  be  for  the  most  part  studies  of 
“  socializing  ”  forces  ;  while  those  of  Professor  Durkheim, 
Professor  Le  Bon,  and  Professor  Ross  are  more  strictly 
studies  of  “social”  forces. 

I  do  not  at  present  wish  to  modify  the  account  that 
I  have  given  of  “  The  Social  Mind,”  or  to  substitute  a 
new  nomenclature  for  the  terms  that  I  have  employed. 
As  long  as  everybody  talks  about  “  public  opinion,”  the 


XY1 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


“  popular  conscience,”  the  “  sovereign  will  of  the  people,” 
and  so  on,  nobody  need  be  deceived  by  such  terms  as 
“  the  social  consciousness,”  “  the  social  mind,”  “  the  social 
memory,”  and  “the  social  will.”  No  careful  reader  of 
these  pages  will  suppose  that  I  believe  in  a  social  Ego, 
a  social  sensorium,  or  a  transcendental  somewhat  over 
and  above  individual  minds.  My  view  of  the  whole 
subject  is  made  perfectly  clear,  I  hope,  when  I  say  that 
by  the  social  will  I  mean  nothing  more  and  nothing  less 
than  the  concert  of  individual  wills.  It  is  desirable, 
however,  that  the  nomenclature  of  sociology  should  be 
much  enriched,  and  a  technical  use  of  the  terms  “  social 
influence,”  “social  ascendency,”  and  “social  control,” 
which  has  been  suggested  by  Professor  Ross  will,  I  think, 
be  very  helpful.  The  phrase  “social  control”  is  espe¬ 
cially  valuable  because  it  is  comprehensive.  A  purposive 
action  of  the  social  will  is  only  one  of  the  modes  of  social 
control,  and  the  phrase  “the  social  will”  is  therefore  too 
specific  and  definite  to  become  a  good  general  term. 

The  method  of  this  book  is  avowedly  and  without 
apology  deductive  as  well  as  inductive.  I  do  not  admit 
that  science  can  get  on  without  speculation.  It  cannot, 
as  a  distinguished  scientific  thinker  said  the  other  day, 
even  get  on  without  guessing,  and  one  of  its  most  useful 
functions  is  to  displace  bad  and  fruitless  guessing  by 
the  good  guessing  that  ultimately  leads  to  the  demon¬ 
stration  of  new  truth.  Strictly  speaking,  all  true  induc¬ 
tion  is  guessing  ;  it  is  a  swift  intuitive  glance  at  a  mass 
of  facts  to  see  if  they  mean  anything  ;  while  exact  scien¬ 
tific  demonstration  is  a  complex  process  of  deducing  con¬ 
clusions  from  the  induction  and  then  testing  the  deduced 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION  xvii 

conclusions  by  the  observation  of  more  facts.  This  is 
what  has  been' going  on  in  the  study  of  natural  selec¬ 
tion,  for  example,  since  Darwin’s  death.  Darwin  himself 
carried  his  own  investigations  through  all  three  of  the 
normal  stages  of  scientific  method.  The  one  imperative 
obligation  resting  on  the  scientific  writer  is  to  use  lan¬ 
guage  that  will  clearly  reveal  to  the  reader  how  much 
of  the  study  in  hand  is  still  in  the  guesswork  stage,  how 
much  of  it  is  in  the  deductive  stage,  and  how  much  of  it 
has  arrived  at  verification.  I  hope  that  most  of  the 
readers  of  this  volume  will  be  able  to  see  that  much 
sociology  is  as  yet  nothing  more  than  careful  and  sug¬ 
gestive  guesswork ;  that  some  of  it  is  deductive  ;  and 
that  a  little  of  it,  enough  to  encourage  us  to  continue  our 
researches,  is  verified  knowledge. 


New  York,  October,  1896. 


c 


CONTENTS 


Book  I 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  SOCIAL  THEORY 

% 

CHAPTER  I 


I. 


II. 


The  Sociological  Idea 

The  History  of  Social  Theory. 

1.  Society . 

2.  Knowledge  of  Society :  Sociology  ;  Objective  Interpre¬ 

tations  ;  Subjective  Interpretations  ;  the  Distinguish¬ 
ing  Mark  of  Social  Phenomena . 

The  Principles  of  Social  Theory. 

1.  The  Postulates  of  Sociology  :  The  Equilibration  of 

Energy  ;  the  Consciousness  of  Kind  .... 

2.  The  Theory  of  Social  Evolution . 


PAOE 

1 


5 


16 

19 


CHAPTER  II 

The  Province  op  Sociology 

I.  The  Place  of  Sociology  among  Sciences. 

1.  Psychology,  Sociology,  and  Special  Social  Sciences  .  21 

II.  The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Psychology. 

1.  Psychology,  the  Science  of  the  Association  of  Ideas  ; 

Sociology,  the  Science  of  the  Association  of  Minds  .  23 

2.  Sociology,  the  Science  of  the  Reciprocal  Adjustment  of 

Life  and  its  Environment . 25 

III.  Sociology  and  the  Special  Social  Sciences. 

1.  Sociology  not  the  Sum  of  the  Social  Sciences,  but  the 
General  Social  Science,  of  Social  Elements  and  First 


Principles . 26 

2.  Sociology  the  Fundamental  Social  Science  ...  34 

IV.  Sociology  and  the  Abstract  Sciences. 

1.  The  Relation  of  Utility  and  of  Obligation  to  Social 

Phenomena  .........  39 

2.  The  Classification  of  the  Sciences . 45 

xix 


XX 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  III 
The  Methods  of  Sociology 

I.  Methods  of  Investigation. 

1.  The  Expedient  Order  in  Sociological  Investigation : 

Observation  and  Description  ;  Retrospection  and  His¬ 
tory  ;  Explanation,  —  Static  and  Kinetic  Problems  . 

2.  Principles  of  Classification . 

3.  Methods  of  Generalization . 

4.  Methods  of  Verification . 

II.  The  Relation  of  Method  to  Actual  Conditions  of  Research 

and  Instruction. 

1.  No  Conflict  between  Specialization  and  the  Methods  of 
Sociology . 


CHAPTER  IV 
The  Problems  of  Sociology 

L  The  Primary  Problems. 

1.  Descriptive  Problems . 

2.  Historical  Problems  .  ...  , 

IL  The  Secondary  Problems. 

1.  Problems  of  Social  Process,  Law,  and  Cause 


Book  II 

THE  ELEMENTS  AND  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY 

CHAPTER  I 
The  Social  Population 

L  Aggregation. 

1.  The  Fact  of  Aggregation ....... 

2.  Conditions  that  determine  Place  and  Extent  of  Aggre¬ 

gation  *  ......... 

3.  Energy  and  Multiplication . 

4.  Genetic  Aggregation . 

5.  Emigration . 

6.  Congregation . 

7.  Causes  of  Aggregation . 

8.  Demotic  Composition . 

9.  Autogeny . 


PAGK 


52 

60 

64 

65 


67 


71 

73 

75 


79 

82 

88 

89 

90 

91 
93 
96 
99 


CONTENTS 


XXI 


PASE 

II.  Association. 

1.  Social  Intercourse  as  a  Mode  of  Conflict.  Primary  and 


Secondary  Conflicts . 100 

2.  Meeting,  Impressions  of  Unlikeness  and  of  Likeness  .  104 

3.  Communication . 108 

4.  Imitation  and  Assimilation . 109 

5.  Antagonism  and  Toleration . 113 

6.  Alliance  and  Mutual  Aid . 114 

7.  Play  and  Festivity . 116 

III.  The  Social  Nature  and  Social  Classes. 

1.  Traits  of  the  Social  Nature . 121 

2.  Vitality  and  Personality  Classes.  Social  Classes  .  .  124 

3.  The  Problems  of  Practical  Sociology  ....  130 


CHAPTER  II 
The  Social  Mind 

I.  Social  Consciousness. 

1.  Nature  of  the  Social  Consciousness  ....  132 

2.  The  Imitative  and  Emotional  Action  of  the  Social  Mind  134 
II.  Social  Self-Consciousness. 

1.  Nature  of  the  Social  Self-consciousness:  Discussion  and 

Public  Opinion . 137 

2.  Tradition . 140 

3.  Standards,  Codes,  Policies,  Ideals,  Tastes,  Faiths, 

Creeds,  and  “Isms” . 145 

4.  Social  Values . 147 

5.  Rational  Social  Choice . 150 

CHAPTER  III 
The  Social  Composition 

I.  The  Nature  and  Elements  of  the  Social  Composition. 

1.  General  Characteristics  of  Social  Composition  .  .153 

2.  The  Family . 154 

3.  Ethnical  and  Demotic  Societies  :  Horde,  Tribe,  and  Folk  157 
II.  Ethnical  Societies. 

1.  The  Cluster  of  Hordes . 159 

2.  Metronymic  Societies . 160 

3.  Patronymic  Societies . 165 

HI.  Demotic  Societies. 

1.  Town,  County,  Commonwealth,  National  State,  and 

International  Groups . 168 


XXII 


CONTENTS 


IV.  The  Psychology  of  the  Social  Composition. 

1.  Social  Composition  a  Creation  of  the  Social  Mind.  Tol¬ 
eration  of  the  Unlike  among  Individuals,  and  Non¬ 
toleration  of  the  Unlike  among  Groups 

CHAPTER  IV 
The  Social  Constitution 

I.  The  Nature,  Extent,  and  Forms  of  the  Social  Constitution. 

1.  General  Characteristics  of  the  Social  Constitution  . 

2.  Rudimentary  Forms  of  Social  Constitution  in  Animal 

and  Ethnical  Societies . 

3.  Forms  of  Association  in  Civil  Societies  . 

II.  The  State. 

1.  The  Composition,  Constitution,  and  Functions  of  the 
State  . 

III.  Voluntary  Associations. 

1.  Political  Organizations . 

2.  Juristic  Organizations . 

3.  Economic  Organizations . 

4.  Cultural  Organizations . 

IV.  The  Psychology  of  the  Social  Constitution. 

1.  Duplication  and  Subordination  of  Functions  in  the 
Social  Constitution.  Non-toleration  of  the  Unlike 
among  Individuals,  and  Toleration  of  the  Unlike 
among  Associations . 


Book  III 

THE  HISTORICAL  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY 
CHAPTER  I 
Zoogenic  Association 

I.  Variation. 

1.  Reactions  of  Association  upon  Animal  Organization 

2.  Conscious  Selection  as  a  Factor  in  the  Origin  of  Species 

II.  Survival. 

1.  Life  in  Societies  the  Most  Important  Aid  in  the  Struggle 

for  Existence . 

2.  Zoogenic  Association  prepared  the  Way  for  Human 

Society . 


FA6S 


169 


171 

172 
174 

176 

180 

185 

186 
190 


194 


199 

202 

203 

207 


CONTENTS 


XX111 


CHAPTER  II 
Anthropogenic  Association 

I.  The  Continuity  of  Animal  and  Human  Society. 

1.  The  Question  of  Continuity . 

2.  The  Parallelism  of  Primitive  with  Existing  Savage 

Society . 

3.  The  Conditions  of  Anthropogenic  Association 

4.  The  Zone  of  Man’s  Origin . 

II.  The  Genesis  of  Human  Nature. 

1.  Association  the  Chief  Cause  of  Man’s  Development 

2.  The  Genesis  of  Speech . 

3.  Human  Nature  developed  by  Speech.  Curiosity  and 

Desire . 

4.  Man’s  Physical  Organization  an  Effect  of  his  Mental 

Activity,  which  was  a  Consequence  of  Association  . 

III.  The  Origin  of  Races. 

1.  The  Impossibilities  assumed  in  Current  Theories  . 

2.  A  Few  Conjectural  Conclusions . 

3.  A  Working  Hypothesis  only . 

IV .  The  Evolution  of  the  Social  Mind. 

1.  The  Chief  Product  of  Anthropogenic  Association.  A 

Common  Consciousness  and  Stock  of  Ideas 

2.  Economic  Ideas . 

3.  Juridical  Ideas . 

4.  Political  Ideas . 

5.  Animistic  Ideas . 

6.  .Esthetic  Ideas . 

7.  Religious  Ideas,  Totemism . 

8.  Tradition.  The  Culture  Races . 

9.  The  Human  Mind . 


CHAPTER  III 
Ethnogenic  Association 

I.  The  Problems  of  Ethnogenic  Association. 

1.  The  Social  Mind  makes  Human  Society  . 

2.  The  Problems  of  the  Origins  of  Family,  Clan,  and  Tribe 
II.  The  Cluster  of  Hordes. 

1.  Forms  of  Intercourse  and  Mutual  Aid  . 

2.  The  Origins  of  the  Family  and  the  Household 

3.  The  Origins  of  the  Clan . 

4.  The  Horde-Clan . 


PAG* 

208 

209 

210 
212 

221 

222 

225 

228 

230 

236 

238 


239 

239 

242 

243 

246 

247 

248 
252 
254 


256 

257 

261 

263 

270 

272 


xxiv 


CONTENTS 


III. 


IY. 


The  Metronymic  Tribe  and  Folk. 

1.  Conditions  of  Integration  ...... 

2.  Origins  of  the  Social  Constitution . 

3.  Development  of  the  Family  and  of  the  Economic  Life 

and  Tradition  of  the  Household . 

4.  Development  of  the  Clan  and  of  its  Juridical  Function 

and  Tradition . 

6.  The  Phratry  and  its  Religious  Function  and  Tradition  . 

6.  The  Tribe  and  its  Military  Function  and  Tradition 

7.  The  Confederation  and  its  Political  Function  and  Tra¬ 

dition  . 

The  Patronymic  Tribe  and  Folk. 

1.  The  Transition  from  the  Metronymic  to  the  Patronymic 

System . 

2.  Changes  in  Religion.  Ancestor  Worship 

3.  The  Religious-Proprietary  Family . 

4.  The  Genesis  of  Feudalism . 

5.  The  Patronymic  Folk.  The  King.  The  Ethnos  . 


FAG* 

273 

275 

276 

278 

281 

282 

284 


285 

290 

291 
293 
296 


CHAPTER  IV 
Demogenic  Association 


I. 


n. 


hi. 


The  Nature  and  Stages  of  Civilization. 

1.  Supremacy  of  the  Social  Constitution.  Extent  of 

Demogenic  Association . 

2.  The  Three  Stages  of  Civilization . 

3.  The  Philosophy  of  History . 

The  Military-Religious  Civilization. 

1.  Migration,  Conquest,  Settlement . 

2.  The  Superposition  of  Races.  New  Ethnical  Types 

3.  Political  Evolution :  the  Creation  of  Positive  Institu¬ 

tions  . 

4.  Industrial  Evolution :  Rise  of  Cities,  Development  of 

Trade,  Division  of  Labor  between  City  and  Country  . 

5.  Transition  from  the  Tribal  to  the  Civic  Organization 

6.  The  New  Ideal  of  a  People.  The  National  State. 

Achievements  of  the  Nation-making  Age  . 

The  Liberal-Legal  Civilization. 

1.  The  Conditions  of  Progress . 

2.  Progressive  and  Non-progressive  Types  .... 

3.  The  Development  of  the  Liberal- Legal  Social  Constitu¬ 

tion  .......... 


299 

299 

302 

309 

309 

313 

317 

319 

322 

324 

325 


329 


CONTENTS 


XXV 


4.  Some  Reactions  of  Liberalism :  the  Romantic  Family 
succeeds  the  Religious  Proprietary  Family  ;  a  Right 
of  Secession  is  alleged  ;  Liberalism  makes  a  Great 
Industrial  Development  possible  .... 
IV.  The  Economic-Ethical  Civilization. 

1.  Prosperity  and  Population.  The  Malthusian  Law  . 

2.  The  Evolution  of  a  Complex  Demotic  System 

3.  The  Genesis  of  Democracy . 

4.  The  Division  of  Social  Functions  between  Country  and 

City . 

5.  The  Costs  of  Progress  :  Degeneration,  Suicide,  Insanity, 

Vagabondage,  and  Vice . 

6.  Degeneration  in  the  Social  Organization  :  Dissolution  of 

the  Romantic  Family,  Divorce  ;  Disintegration  of  the 
City  :  the  Dangers  that  threaten  Civilization 

7.  The  Ethical  Reaction  against  Degeneration  :  the  Ethical 

Family ;  Further  Development  of  the  Social  Consti¬ 
tution  . 

8.  The  Ethical  Type  of  Society . 

V.  The  Fact  and  Nature  of  Progress. 

1.  The  Phases  of  Progress.  Progress  as  a  Conversion  of 
Energy.  Progress  as  an  Expansion  of  the  Conscious¬ 
ness  of  Kind . 


Book  IV 

SOCIAL  PROCESS  LAW  AND  CAUSE 
CHAPTER  I 

The  Social  Process  :  Physical 

I.  The  Nature  of  the  Social  Process. 

1.  The  Interaction  of  Physical  and  Psychical  Causes  . 

2.  Social  Evolution  a  Phase  of  Cosmic  Evolution 
II.  The  Physical  Process  in  Society. 

1.  Social  Evolution  as  an  Equilibration  of  Energy 

2.  Social  Activity  follows  the  Line  of  Least  Resistance  and 

is  Rhythmical . 

3.  Social  Evolution  is  Compound.  Differentiation  and 

Segregation . 

4.  Social  Evolution  a  Moving  Equilibrium  .... 


PAG* 

333 

334 
337 

345 

346 

347 

349 

361 

364 

356 


363 

363 

366 

369 

370 
374 


XXVI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  II 


The  Social  Process  :  Psychical 

PAttK 

L  The  Evolution  of  Personality. 

1.  Association  of  Presence  and  of  Activity  ....  376 

2.  Personality,  a  Composite  Product  of  Association  .  .  377 

3.  Psychical  Determination . 380 

4.  Cumulative  Happiness . 383 

II.  Volitional  Association. 

1.  The  Forms  of  Volitional  Association  ....  386 

2.  The  Coordination  of  Volitional  Association  .  .  .  388 

3.  Degrees  of  Intimacy  and  Definiteness  in  Association  .  391 

4.  Extent  and  Duration  of  Association.  Dissociation  .  392 

III.  The  Reciprocal  Dependence  of  Society  and  the  Individual. 

1.  Reactions  of  Institutions  upon  Personality  .  .  .  394 

2.  The  Persistence  of  Both  Community  and  Competition  .  398 


CHAPTER  III 

Social  Law  and  Cause 

I.  The  Laws  of  Social  Phenomena. 

1.  Two  Classes  of  Sociological  Laws :  Laws  of  Imitation 


and  Choice  ;  Laws  of  Limitation  and  Survival  .  .  400 

2.  The  Laws  of  Imitation . 400 

3.  The  Law  of  Preference  in  Social  Choices  .  .  .  401 

4.  The  Law  of  Combination  in  Social  Choices  .  .  .  409 

6.  The  Law  of  Survival . 412 

II.  Social  Causation. 


1.  The  Relation  of  Volitional  to  Physical  Causation.  The 

Scientific  Conception  of  Nature . 416 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  Nature  and  End  of  Society 

L  The  Final  Conception  of  Society. 

1.  Society  an  Organization  for  the  Development  of  Hu¬ 


manity  . 420 

Bibliography . 423 

Index  . . 443 


Book  I 


the  elements  of  social  theory 


f 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 

Within  that  broad  grouping  of  animal  species  which 
is  known  as  geographical  distribution  there  is  a  minor 
grouping  of  animals  into  swarms,  herds,  or  bands,  and  of 
human  population  into  hordes,  clans,  tribes,  and  nations. 
These  natural  groupings  of  conscious  individuals  are  the 
physical  basis  of  social  phenomena.  Society,  in  the  origi¬ 
nal  meaning  of  the  word,  is  companionship,  converse, 
association,  and  all  true  social  facts  are  psychical  in  their 
nature.  But  mental  life  in  the  individual  is  not  more  de¬ 
pendent  on  physical  arrangements  of  brain  and  nerve  cells 
than  social  intercourse  and  mutual  effort  are  dependent 
on  physical  groupings  of  population.  It  is  therefore  in 
keeping  with  the  nature  of  things  that  the  word  “society  ” 
means  also  the  individuals,  collectively  considered,  who 
mingle  and  converse,  or  who  are  united  or  organized  for 
any  purpose  of  common  concern.  Furthermore,  from  these 
concrete  ideas  we  derive  the  abstract  notion  of  society  as 
the  union  itself,  the  organization,  the  sum  of  formal  rela¬ 
tions,  in  which  associating  individuals  are  bound  together. 

Combining  these  ideas  we  find  that  our  thought  of  soci¬ 
ety  is  already  somewhat  complex.  Yet  it  would  remain 
still  inadequate  if  we  failed  to  take  account  of  the 
interdependence  of  temporary  and  of  enduring  forms  of 
association;  of  momentary  converse  and  of  permanent 

3 


4 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


organization;  of  free  agreement  and  of  obedience-com¬ 
pelling  power;  of  artificially  formed  unions,  and  of  those 
self-perpetuating  communities,  the  tribes,  cities,  and  na¬ 
tions,  within  which  the  minor  phenomena  of  association 
have  place. 

For  the  purposes  of  political  science  the  distinction 
between  “natural”  and  “ political ”  society  has  a  formal 
importance.  Bentham’s  definitions  of  these  forms,  in  the 
“Fragment  on  Government,”  are  perfect  of  their  kind. 
“When  a  number  of  persons  (whom  we  may  style  sub¬ 
jects),”  he  says,  “are  supposed  to  be  in  the  habit  of  paying 
obedience  to  a  person,  or  an  assemblage  of  persons,  of  a 
known  and  certain  description  (whom  we  may  call  gov¬ 
ernor  or  governors),  such  persons  altogether  (subjects  and 
governors)  are  said  to  be  in  a  state  of  political  society.” 
“When  a  number  of  persons  are  supposed  to  be  in  the 
habit  of  conversing  with  each  other,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  are  not  in  any  such  habit  as  mentioned  above,  they 
are  said  to  be  in  a  state  of  natural  society.”1  Nevertheless, 
the  difference  is  one  of  degree  only,  as  Bentham  goes  on 
to  show.  “  It  is  with  them  as  with  light  and  darkness : 
however  distinct  the  ideas  may  be  that  are,  at  first  men¬ 
tion,  suggested  by  those  names,  the  things  themselves  have 
no  determinate  bound  to  separate  them.”  Sooner  or  later 
converse  develops  from  within  itself  the  forms  of  govern¬ 
ment  and  of  obedience.  Association  passes  by  insensible 
gradations  into  definite  and  permanent  relations.  Organi¬ 
zation,  in  its  turn,  imparts  stability  and  definiteness  to 
the  social  group ;  the  psychic  life  and  its  physical  basis  are 
evolved  together. 

Thus  our  idea  of  society  becomes  the  thought  of  a  vast 
and  intricate  natural  phenomenon,  the  conception  of  a 
cosmic  fact,  marvellous  and  fascinating.  We  perceive 
that  it  is  in  a  minor  sense  of  the  word,  only,  that  society 
is  merely  converse,  or  merely  a  number  of  individuals 
1  Chapter  I.  Paragraphs  X  and  XI. 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


5 


associating  for  any  purpose.  In  the  larger  and  scientifi¬ 
cally  important  sense,  a  society  is  a  naturally  developing 
group  of  conscious  beings,  in  which  converse  passes  into 
definite  relationships  that,  in  the  course  of  time,  are 
wrought  into  a  complex  and  enduring  organization. 

Exact  knowledge  of  society  as  thus  conceived  is  among 
our  latest  acquisitions.  Besides  society,  nothing  else  in 
nature,  except  the  mystery  of  life  itself,  has  so  deeply 
impressed  the  human  imagination,  and  with  nothing  else 
but  life  itself  has  imagination  played  so  freely.  No 
image  has  been  too  fantastic,  no  speculation  too  mystical, 
no  belief  too  absurd,  to  enter  into  the  description  and 
philosophy  of  society. 

The  beginnings  of  a  scientific  observation  and  classi¬ 
fication  of  social  facts,  and  of  true  generalization  from 
them,  are  preserved  for  us  in  the  “  Republic  ”  and  the 
“  Laws  ”  of  Plato,  and  in  the  “  Politics  ”  of  Aristotle,  but 
they  are  beginnings  only.  In  these  works,  however, 
society  is  interpreted  in  its  integrity,  as  organized  in  the 
city  or  the  state,  while  under  the  Roman  Empire,  during 
the  Middle  Ages  and  after  the  revival  of  learning,  all 
scientific  studies  of  social  phenomena  were  but  fragmen¬ 
tary.  Some  were  economic,  some  were  legal,  some  were 
ecclesiastical,  and  some  were  political.  No  one  attempted 
to  describe  association  and  social  organization  in  their 
completeness;  no  one  tried  to  comprehend  the  concrete, 
vital  whole.  Only  in  the  present  century,  have  scientific 
methods  been  systematically  applied  to  this  larger  task. 
But,  once  applied,  in  the  study  of  society  as  in  other 
departments  of  research,  scientific  methods  have  been 
richly  rewarded  with  substantial  additions  to  the  sum  of 
truth.  Already  we  are  in  possession  of  a  rapidly  enlarging 
body  of  verified  and  reasoned  knowledge  of  social  relations. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  claim  that  we  have  now,  at  length,  a 
sociology,  which  may  be  defined  as  the  systematic  descrip- 


6 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


tion  and  explanation  of  society  viewed  as  a  whole.  It  is 
the  general  science  of  social  phenomena. 

The  word  “sociology  ”  was  first  used  by  Auguste  Comte 
in  the  “Cours  de  philosophie  positive,”  as  a  name  for  a 
comprehensive  social  science,  conceived  as  a  part  of  a 
positive  or  verifiable  philosophy,  and  it  was  Comte  who 
first  saw  clearly  the  importance  of  separating  the  elements 
of  such  a  science  from  irrelevant  materials,  ideas,  and 
methods,  and  who  first  put  together  in  one  conception  all 
the  really  necessary  elements.  Plato  and  Aristotle  had 
neither  separated  politics  from  ethics,  nor  the  science  of 
politics  from  the  art.  In  eighteenth-century  discussions 
political  science  had  been  hopelessly  confused  with  the 
revolutionary  spirit.  Neither  Hobbes  nor  Montesquieu, 
nor  the  economists,  had  studied  society  in  all  its  aspects, 
and  notwithstanding  the  influence  of  Hume,  to  whom 
Comte  was  indebted  for  whatever  is  true  in  his  notions  of 
causation,1  social  explanations  were  still  to  a  great  extent 
theological  and  metaphysical. 

It  was  Comte,  then,  who  first  turned  a  rationalistic 
search-light  upon  the  confusion,  who  insisted  that  society 
must  be  viewed  as  indivisible  and  organic,  and  who  sought, 
therefore,  to  found  a  science  of  social  phenomena  in  their 
coordinated  entirety, —  a  science  positive  in  its  methods, 
based  on  a  wide  observation  of  facts,  and,  as  a  science, 
separated  once  for  all  from  political  art  and  from  revolu¬ 
tionary  purpose.  Accordingly,  sociology,  as  he  under¬ 
stood  it,  was  to  be  exactly  equivalent  to  social  physics, 
for  the  task  of  sociology  should  be  to  discover  the  nature, 
the  natural  causes,  and  the  natural  laws  of  society,  and 
to  banish  from  history,  politics,  and  economics  all  appeals 
to  the  metaphysical  and  the  supernatural,  as  they  had  been 
banished  from  astronomy  and  from  chemistry.  Comte 
believed  that  by  following  the  positive  method  sociology 

1  See  Huxley  :  “  Lay  Sermons,  Addresses,  and  Reviews  ”  ;  “  The 
Scientific  Aspects  of  Positivism.” 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


7 


could  become  in  good  measure  a  science  of  previsions, 
forecasting  the  course  of  progress. 

Since  Comte,  sociology  has  been  developed  mainly  by 
men  who  have  felt  the  full  force  of  an  impulse  that  has 
revolutionized  scientific  thinking  for  all  time  to  come. 
The  evolutionist  explanation  of  the  natural  world  has 
made  its  way  into  every  department  of  knowledge.  The 
law  of  natural  selection  and  the  conception  of  life  as  a 
process  of  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  its  environment 
have  become  the  core  of  the  biology  and  the  psychology 
of  to-day.  It  was  inevitable  that  the  evolutionary  philos¬ 
ophy  should  be  extended  to  embrace  the  social  phenomena 
of  human  life.  The  science  that  had  traced  life  from 
protoplasm  to  man  could  not  stop  with  explanations  of 
his  internal  constitution.  It  must  take  cognizance  of  his 
manifold  external  relations,  of  the  ethnical  groups,  of  the 
natural  societies  of  men,  and  of  all  the  phenomena  that 
they  exhibit,  and  inquire  whether  these  things  also  are  not 
products  of  the  universal  evolution.  Therefore,  we  find 
not  only  in  the  earlier  writings  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer, 
but  also  in  those  of  Darwin  and  Professor  Haeckel,  sug¬ 
gestions  of  an  evolutionist  account  of  social  relations. 
These  hints  were  not  of  themselves  a  sociology.  For 
this,  other  factors,  derived  directly  by  induction  from 
social  phenomena,  were  needed.  But  such  hints  sufficed 
to  show  where  some  of  the  ground  lines  of  the  new  science 
must  lie ;  to  reveal  some  of  its  fundamental  conceptions ; 
and  to  demonstrate  that  the  sociologist  must  be  not  only 
historian,  economist,  and  statistician,  but  biologist  and 
psychologist  as  well.1  On  evolutional  lines  then,  and 
through  the  labours  of  evolutionist  thinkers,  modern  soci¬ 
ology  has  taken  shape.  It  is  an  interpretation  of  human 
society  in  terms  of  natural  causation.  It  refuses  to  look 

1  This  does  not  mean  that  he  is  to  construct  sociology  as  a  mosaic  of 
biological,  psychological,  economical,  and  historical  principles,  a  procedure 
that  would  imply  a  totally  false  conception  of  the  science  and  its  method. 


8 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


upon  humanity  as  outside  of  the  cosmic  process,  and  as  a 
law  unto  itself.  Sociology  is  an  attempt  to  account  for 
the  origin,  growth,  structure,  and  activities  of  society  by 
the  operation  of  physical,  vital,  and  psychical  causes,  work¬ 
ing  together  in  a  process  of  evolution. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  most  important 
endeavour  in  this  direction  is  contained  in  Mr.  Spencer’s 
system  of  “  Synthetic  Philosophy.”  In  that  great  work 
the  principles  of  sociology  are  derived  from  principles 
of  psychology  and  of  biology.  Social  development  is 
regarded  as  a  super-organic  evolution.  It  is  a  process 
in  which  all  the  organic  and  psychic  phenomena  of  human 
life  are  combined  in  larger  forms  of  intricate  yet  orderly 
complexity.  Mr.  Spencer’s  conception  of  society  as  or¬ 
ganic  is  more  definite  than  Comte’s.  In  Mr.  Spencer’s 
view,  society  is  an  organism,  not  in  mere  fanciful  analogy, 
as  in  the  “Leviathan”  of  Hobbes,  but  really;  and  not 
morally  only,  but  physiologically  as  well,  because,  in  its 
constitution,  there  is  a  division  of  labour  that  extends 
beyond  individuals  to  groups  and  organizations  of  individ¬ 
uals.  There  is  a  sustaining  system,  made  up  of  industrial 
groups ;  a  distributing  system,  made  up  of  commercial  ac¬ 
tivities  ;  and  a  regulating  system,  made  up  of  political  and 
religious  agencies.  Mr.  Spencer  takes  much  pains  to  show 
that  the  ethical  progress  and  happiness  of  mankind  are 
conditioned  by  this  functional  organization  of  society,  but 
he  does  not  expand  as  fully  as  we  could  wish  the  thought 
of  Plato,  who  found  in  the  social  division  of  labour  the 
basis  and  the  true  type  of  the  ethical  life,  and  so  prepared 
the  way  for  a  conception  of  society  as  a  means  to  the  per¬ 
fection  of  human  personality. 

If  Mr.  Spencer  fails  in  some  degree  at  this  point,  he 
leaves  little  to  be  desired  in  the  perfect  definiteness  with 
which  he  correlates  social  organization  with  universal 
physical  processes.  Most  of  the  writers  who  have  passed 
judgment  on  Mr.  Spencer’s  sociological  doctrines  have 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


9 


failed  to  inform  themselves  upon  the  underlying  princi¬ 
ples  from  which  his  conclusions  have  been  drawn.  They 
have  sought  his  sociological  system  in  those  of  his  books 
that  bear  sociological  titles,  while,  in  fact,  the  basal 
theorems  of  his  sociological  thought  are  scattered  through¬ 
out  the  second  half  of  the  volume  called  “  First  Principles,” 
and  must  be  put  together  by  the  reader  with  some  labour. 
These  theorems,  taken  together,  are  an  interpretation  of 
social  changes  in  terms  of  those  laws  of  the  persistence 
of  force,  the  direction  and  rhythm  of  motion,  the  integra¬ 
tion  of  matter  and  the  differentiation  of  form,  that,  to¬ 
gether,  make  up  Mr.  Spencer’s  well-known  formula  of 
universal  evolution.  Society,  like  the  material  world  and 
the  living  organism,  undergoes  integration  and  differen¬ 
tiation.  It  passes  from  the  homogeneity  and  indefiniteness 
of  non-organization  to  the  heterogeneity  and  definiteness 
of  organization.  The  ultimate  cause  of  all  these  changes 
is  the  universal  equilibration  of  energy.  Comte  used  the 
term  “  social  statics  ”  in  a  merely  rhetorical  way,  as  a 
name  for  social  order,  and  “  social  dynamics  ”  as  a  name  for 
progress.  Mr.  Spencer,  more  scientific,  adheres  to  precise 
physical  notions.  Social  statics  is  for  him  an  account  of 
social  forces  in  equilibrium.  Perfect  equilibrium  is  never 
reached  in  fact,  because  of  disturbing  changes,  themselves 
a  consequence  of  an  equilibration  of  energy  between  so¬ 
ciety  and  its  environment.  Actually,  however,  the  static 
and  the  kinetic  tendencies  are  themselves  balanced,  and 
the  result,  in  society,  as  in  the  solar  system  and  in  the 
living  body,  is  a  moving  equilibrium. 

All  this,  obviously,  is  a  physical  explanation  of  social 
forms  and  metamorphoses,  and  Spencerian  sociology  in 
general,  whether  formulated  b}^  Mr.  Spencer,  or  by  other 
writers  under  the  influence  of  his  thought,  is  to  a  large 
extent  a  physical  philosophy  of  society,  notwithstanding 
its  liberal  use  of  biological  and  psychological  data. 

Nevertheless,  such  physical  interpretation  is  not  the 


10 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


whole  of  evolutional  sociology.  For  not  only  does  soci¬ 
ology  insist  upon  a  recognition  of  the  unity  that  under¬ 
lies  all  the  various  phases  of  society  that  are  investigated 
by  special  social  sciences,  it  insists  also  that  one  funda¬ 
mental  logic  underlies  the  objective  or  physical,  and  the 
subjective  or  volitional  explanations  of  social  phenomena. 
These  two  explanations  contended  with  each  other  in 
economic  and  in  political  philosophy  through  many  cen¬ 
turies.  Beginning  with  the  “  Politics  ”  of  Aristotle,  there 
was  developed  through  Bodin,  Montesquieu,  and  the 
physiocrats,  an  objective  explanation  in  terms  of  race, 
soil,  climate,  heredity,  and  historical  conditions.  Through 
Grotius,  Hobbes,  Locke,  Hume,  Bentham,  Berkeley,  Kant, 
and  Hegel,  there  was  developed  a  subjective  interpretation 
in  terms  of  human  nature,  utility,  ethical  imperatives,  and 
ideals.  But  the  two  explanations  were  never  brought 
fairly  face  to  face.  The  limits  of  thought  that  never  were 
broken  over  by  attempts  to  investigate  the  unity  of  society 
itself,  likewise  were  undisturbed  by  any  really  scientific 
attempt  to  arrive  at  unity  of  interpretation. 1  The  nearest 
approach  to  such  unity  in  fact  was  made,  quite  uncon¬ 
sciously  on  the  part  of  its  author,  in  the  incomparable 
political  writings  of  Burke.  In  systematic  sociology  only 
do  we  find  a  distinct  recognition  of  both  social  volition 
and  physical  evolution  and  a  conscious  grappling  with  the 
problem  of  their  scientific  reconciliation. 

As  the  objective  interpretation,  extremely  crude  in 
the  philosophy  of  Comte,  has  undergone  rapid  develop¬ 
ment  in  later  thought,  so  too  has  the  subjective  interpre¬ 
tation,  though  unfortunately  not  in  anything  like  the  same 
degree.  Comte  believed  that  scientifically  trained  states¬ 
men  could  reorganize  society  and  guide  its  progress.  In 
Mr.  Spencer’s  philosophy,  the  thought  has  become  par- 

1  The  Hegelian  may  take  exception  in  the  name  of  his  master  if  he 
likes.  For  myself,  I  do  not  think  that  Hegel’s  knowledge  of  physical 
science  was  sufficient  to  be  entitled  to  consideration. 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


11 


tially  negative.  The  statesman  cannot  make  society  bet¬ 
ter  by  his  art,  but  he  can  make  it  indefinitely  worse.  In 
the  writings  of  Mr.  Lester  F.  Ward1  the  thought  has 
again  become  wholly  positive.  Society  can  convert  the 
natural  process  of  evolution  into  an  artificial  process. 
It  can  volitionally  shape  its  own  destiny.  It  can  become 
teleologically  progressive.  In  the  elaborate  works  also 
of  Lilienfeld,2  Dr.  A.  Schaffle,3  and  Professor  Guillaume 
De  Greef,4  whose  habits  of  thought  are  naturalistic  but 
whose  studies  have  included  a  patient  examination  of  the 
claims  of  socialism,  there  is  a  full  recognition  of  the  social 
will.  Finally,  in  the  critical  essay  of  M.  Alfred  Fouill^e6 
there  is  a  detailed  review  of  the  historical  relations  of 
idealism  and  naturalism  in  social  philosophy,  and  a  brill¬ 
iant  attempt  to  demonstrate  the  identity  of  physical  and 
volitional  phenomena,  which  M.  Fouillee  conceives  as 
phases  of  a  process  of  evolution  by  “idea  forces.”6 

Upon  a  close  examination  of  these  comprehensive  works, 
however,  it  is  found  that  their  explanation  of  society  in 
terms  of  volition  has  not  been  worked  out  with  that 
scientific  precision  which  characterizes  their  explanation 
in  terms  of  physical  law.  In  fact,  in  the  method  that  has 
been  followed  by  some  of  the  most  eminent  expounders 
of  sociology,  there  is  a  serious  error  that  has  brought 
unmerited  discredit  upon  their  science.  The  objective 
explanation  has  systematically  been  carried  out,  after 
having  been  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms  in  the  formula 
of  physical  evolution,  but  the  subjective  explanation  has 
not  in  like  manner  been  carried  through  the  whole  range 
of  social  phenomena.  Much  less  has  it  been  reduced  to 

1  “Dynamic  Sociology”  and  “The  Psychic  Factors  of  Civilization.” 

3  “  Gedanken  iiber  eine  Socialwissenschaft  der  Zukunft.” 

*  “Bau  und  Leben  des  socialen  Korpers.” 

*  “  Introduction  Si  la  sociologie.” 

6  “La  science  sociale  contemporaine.” 

6  Cf.  Fouillee,  “La  Psychologie  des  id^es  forces”  and  “ L’ Evolution* 
nisme  des  iddes  forces.” 


12 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


terms  of  a  single  motive  or  principle,  uniquely  character¬ 
izing  the  conscious  individual  as  a  social  being,  and  deter¬ 
mining  all  his  social  relations  in  so  far  as  they  are  volition- 
ally  created.  Instead  of  an  attempt  to  find  such  a  principle, 
to  deduce  from  it  all  its  consequences,  and  to  organize  about 
it  the  conditioning  motives  or  circumstances  that  should  be 
taken  into  account,  there  has  been  a  tiresome  endeavour  to 
enumerate  all  the  motives  that  actuate  man  in  his  varied 
relations,  and  in  the  satisfaction  of  all  his  wants,  as  if  all 
motives  were  of  coordinate  importance  to  sociology.1  The 
result  is  not  the  reasoned  knowledge  that  is  science. 

This  method  is  remarkable  for  two  reasons.  It  reverses 
the  method  that  has  been  used  effectively  in  the  physical 
interpretation  of  society.  It  reverses  the  method  that  has 
been  applied  successfully  to  subjective  interpretation  in 
politics,  and  especially  in  economics.  Political  economy 
does  not  construct  its  doctrine  of  conduct  by  inventory,  but 
by  abstraction.  Taking  the  form  of  a  pure  theory  of  util¬ 
ity,  economic  science  has  recently  undergone  a  remarkable 
development.  The  purely  abstract  analysis  begun  by  Cour¬ 
not,  Jevons,  and  Professor  Leon  Walras,  and  continued  by 
Austrian  and  American  economists,  has  shown  that  the  phe¬ 
nomena  of  economic  motive  and  choice,  and  consequently 
the  economic  activities  and  relations  that  are  determined  by 
choice,  can  be  formulated  not  only  scientifically,  in  a  quali¬ 
tative  sense,  but  even  mathematically.  If  sociology  expects 
to  attain  scientific  precision  it  must  follow  this  significant 
example  of  the  value  of  consistent  method. 

It  must  be  admitted,  then,  that  much  important  work  in 
sociology  is  fairly  open  to  the  scientific  criticism  that  has 

1  The  text-book  writers,  Small  and  Vincent,  nave  gone  even  so  far  as  to 
say  that  “  Sociology  in  its  historical  and  analytical  department,  or  descrip¬ 
tive  sociology,  is  the  organization  of  all  the  positive  knowledge  of  man 
and  of  society  furnished  by  the  sciences  and  sub-sciences  now  desig¬ 
nated  or  included  under  the  titles,  Biology,  Anthropology,  Psychology, 
Ethnology,  Demography,  History,  Political  and  Economic  Science,  and 
Ethics.”  “  An  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Society,”  page  62. 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


13 


been  urged  against  it  by  disbelievers  in  the  possibility  of  a 
general  science  of  society.  Sociology,  if  judged  by  such 
work,  has  started  out  to  explain  society  as  a  whole  and 
itself  has  failed  to  attain  unity  of  method.  It  has  given 
the  impression  that  social  science  is  catholic  but  not  coher¬ 
ent,  that  it  can  depict  society  in  its  wholeness  only  by 
enumerating  its  parts,  and  that  it  must  necessarily  fail  to 
demonstrate  the  underlying  unity  alleged. 

It  might  be  thought  that  sociology  could  meet  this  criti¬ 
cism  by  surrendering  all  subjective  explanations  to  other 
sciences,  and  by  confining  itself  to  an  elaboration  of  the 
objective  explanation.  But  this  would  be  to  abandon 
entirely  the  claim  to  the  unity  of  social  phenomena.  The 
volitional  process  is  obviously  essential.  If  there  is  no 
unity  here,  there  is  none  anywhere  in  society;  apparent 
unity  is  a  circumstance  of  the  physical  basis  only.  Plainly, 
a  true  sociology  must  combine  the  subjective  and  the 
objective  interpretations.  It  must  reduce  each  to  its  low¬ 
est  terms,  and  must  consistently  trace  the  fundamental 
principles  of  each  through  all  social  relations.  Then  it 
must  unite  them,  in  no  merely  artificial  way,  but  logically, 
as  complementary  doctrines,  and  show  how  they  condition 
each  other  at  every  step. 

That  able  sociologists  have  failed  to  accomplish  this 
difficult  task  is  no  condemnation  of  sociology  itself.  Soci¬ 
ology  can  be  dismissed  as  not  a  true  science  only  if  its 
critics  can  prove  that  it  cannot  be  constructed  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  strictly  scientific  requirements,  or  that  it  shows 
no  tendency  to  develop  on  strictly  scientific  lines.  To 
men  of  scientific  temper  the  argument  from  impossibility  is 
itself  impossible,  and  it  may  be  dismissed  without  consider¬ 
ation.  Of  the  present  tendency  of  sociology  to  seek  unity 
of  subjective  interpretation  there  is  abundant  evidence  in 
the  work  of  its  younger  students.  Everywhere  they  are 
asking  what  characteristic  it  is  that  stamps  a  phenomenon 
as  social,  and  so  differentiates  it  from  phenomena  of  every 


14 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


other  kind.1  When  this  question  is  answered  the  socio¬ 
logical  postulate  will  be  disclosed.  For  a  characteristic 
is  always  the  outcome  of  a  process.  If  we  find  the  general 
characteristic  and  the  fundamental  process  we  find  the 
principle  of  interpretation. 

Economic  thought  has  been  responsible,  in  no  small 
measure,  for  a  popular  notion  that  mutual  aid  and  the  divi¬ 
sion  of  labour  are  the  distinguishing  marks  of  society.  In 
fact,  however,  mutual  aid  and  the  division  of  labour  obtain 
among  the  cells  and  organs  of  vital  organisms  as  well  as 
among  the  members  of  society,  while  social  intercourse  is 
often  without  any  trace  of  cooperation.  Until  the  falla¬ 
cious  notion  that  social  differentia  could  be  found  in 
organic  or  economic  facts  was  discredited  in  scientific 
minds  there  could  be  no  real  progress.  It  has  been  effect- 
ually  discredited  now  by  the  attempts  of  several  able 
inquirers  to  get  deeper  into  the  problem.  Professor  Lud¬ 
wig  Gumplowicz 2  has  tried  to  demonstrate  that  the  true 
elementary  social  phenomena  are  the  conflicts,  amalgama¬ 
tions,  and  assimilations  of  heterogeneous  ethnical  groups. 
M.  Novicow,3  generalizing  further,  argues  that  social 
evolution  is  essentially  a  progressive  modification  of  con¬ 
flict  by  alliance,  in  the  course  of  which  conflict  itself  is 
transformed  from  a  physical  into  an  intellectual  struggle. 
Professor  De  Greef,4  looking  at  the  question  in  a  very 
different  way,  finds  the  distinctive  social  fact  in  contract, 
and  measures  social  progress  according  to  the  displacement 
of  coercive  authority  by  conscious  agreement.  M.  Gabriel 
Tarde,6  in  an  original  and  fascinating  study,  which  has 
made  an  enduring  impress  on  both  psychological  and 
sociological  thought,  argues  that  the  primordial  social  fact 

1  “  Avant  tout  il  convient  de  s’ entendre  sur  le  caract&re  propre  et  di»- 
tinctif  des  phfinomfenes  sociaux.”  Tarde,  “  La  logique  sociale,”  page  v. 

2  “  Der  Rassenkampf  ”  and  “  Grundriss  der  Sociologie.” 

8  “Les  luttes  entre  soci6t6s  humaines.” 

*  “  Introduction  a  la  sociologie.” 

*  “  Les  lois  de  limitation  ”  and  “  La  logique  sociale.” 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


15 


is  imitation,  a  phenomenon  antecedent  to  all  mutual  aid, 
division  of  labour  and  contract.  Professor  Emile  Durk- 
heim,1  dissenting  from  the  conclusions  of  M.  Tarde,  under¬ 
takes  to  prove  that  the  characteristically  social  process,  and 
therefore  the  ultimate  social  phenomenon,  is  a  coercion  of 
every  individual  mind  by  modes  of  action,  thought,  and 
feeling  that  are  external  to  itself. 2 

Of  all  these  writers,  M.  Tarde  and  Professor  Durkheim 
unquestionably  have  most  nearly  succeeded  in  the  attempt 
to  discern  the  essential  nature  of  social  phenomena  and  to 
state  the  first  principle  of  sociology.  They  have  failed 
to  understand  each  other,  but  nothing  could  be  plainer  to 
the  impartial  reader  of  both  than  that  they  are  looking  at 
different  aspects  of  phenomena  which,  to  say  the  least,  are 
closely  correlated ;  Professor  Durkheim,  at  the  impression 
which  many  minds  make  »upon  any  one  mind ;  M.  Tarde, 
at  the  imitative  response  of  many  to  the  suggestive  inven¬ 
tiveness  of  one.  If  these  phenomena  are  not  absolutely 
.  original  or  fundamental,  in  social  relations,  they  are  very 
nearly  so.  Perhaps  this  is  more  evidently  true,  however, 
of  imitation.  Phenomena  of  every  kind,  as  M.  Tarde 
points  out,3  can  be  known  only  because  they  repeat  them¬ 
selves.  In  physics  we  study  repetition  under  the  forms 
of  undulation  or  vibration ;  in  biology,  under  the  form  of 
heredity,  or  the  transmission  of  life  and  characteristics 
from  cell  to  cell ;  in  sociology,  under  the  form  of  imitation, 
or  the  transmission  of  impulse,  feeling,  and  idea  from  indi¬ 
vidual  to  individual,  from  group  to  group,  and  from  gen¬ 
eration  to  generation. 

1  “  De  la  division  du  travail  social”  and  “Les  regies  de  la  m6thode 
sociologique.” 

2  Besides  the  works  mentioned  in  the  text,  the  student  should  con¬ 
sult:  Vanni,  “Prime  linee  di  un  programma  critico  di  sociologia”; 
Mackenzie,  “An  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy”;  Sales  y  Ferr6, 
“Tratado  de  sociologia”;  Simmel,  “  Uber  Sociale  Differenziemng,” 
Lestrade,  “  &l£ments  de  sociologie”;  and  Bougl6,  “Les  sciences  sociales 
en  Allemagne.” 

3  “  Les  lois  de  limitation, ”  Chap.  I. 


16 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Nevertheless,  there  is  a  decisive  reason  for  rejecting  the 
final  generalizations  of  both  M.  Tarde  and  Professor  Durk- 
heim.  Neither  has  perfectly  discriminated  the  social  fact, 
closely  as  each  has  approached  to  that  achievement.  Their 
formulas  include  too  much.  There  may  be  an  impression 
of  one  mind  by  another  mind  or  by  many  minds  which 
neither  is  nor  can  be  developed  into  association.  There 
may  be  imitation  which  has  in  it  no  germ  whatever  of 
society.  The  serpent  impresses  the  startled  bird  with  par¬ 
alyzing  fear,  and  then  strikes  it  with  swift  death.  The 
catbird  imitates  the  call  of  the  robin,  but  not  with  social 
intent  or  result.  The  elementary  social  fact,  therefore, 
although,  without  doubt,  intimately  related  both  to  impres¬ 
sion  and  to  imitation,  is  yet  in  itself  neither  imitation  nor 
impression.  We  must  look  for  it  in  some  phenomenon  that 
is  coextensive  with  potential  society,  and  with  nothing  else. 

A  sufficient  account  of  the  purpose  and  scientific  char¬ 
acter  of  sociology,  originally  and  at  the  present  time,  has 
now  been  presented.  It  is  a  science  that  tries  to  con¬ 
ceive  of  society  in  its  unity,  and  attempts  to  explain  it  in 
terms  of  cosmic  cause  and  law.  To  accomplish  such  ex¬ 
planation  it  must  work  out  a  subjective  interpretation  in 
terms  of  some  fact  of  consciousness  or  motive  and  an  ob¬ 
jective  interpretation  in  terms  of  a  physical  process.  These 
two  interpretations  must  be  consistent,  each  with  the  other, 
and  must  be  correlated.  The  subjective  process  and  the 
objective  process  must  be  shown  to  be  inseparable,  each 
being  at  all  times  conditioned  by  the  other.1 

Whatever  may  be  the  future  progress  of  the  physical 

1  This  is  not  to  be  construed  as  a  doctrine  of  philosophical  dualism. 
The  idealist  may  resolve  the  physical  process  into  terms  of  thought; 
the  materialist,  if  he  can,  may  resolve  the  subjective  process  into  terms 
of  energy.  For  the  purposes  of  science  the  two  processes  are  modes, 
merely,  in  which  reality  is  perceived.  Psychologically  they  are  but  anti¬ 
thetical  forms  of  perception.  Sociology  must  work  out  its  explanations 
in  terms  cf  both  modes,  or  forms,  and  of  their  correlations. 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


17 


sciences  that  have  made  such  marvellous  advancement  in 
the  century  that  is  now  closing,  it  is  certain  that  in  the 
social  sciences  work  already  recorded  is  but  a  promise  of 
results  to  be  achieved.  Sociology  has  been  (let  us  confess 
it)  a  substance  of  scientific  things  hoped  for,  but  the 
realization  of  its  logical  possibilities  is  at  least  a  little 
nearer  now  than  it  was  when  Mr.  Spencer  wrote  his 
awakening  chapter  on  “  Our  Need  of  It.” 1  There  is, 
indeed,  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  time  has  come 
when  its  principles,  accurately  formulated  and  adequately 
verified,  can  be  organized  into  a  coherent  theory. 

No  new  principle  of  objective  interpretation  need  be 
looked  for.  The  physical  process,  in  society  as  in  the 
desmid  or  the  star,  is  that  of  formal  evolution  through  the 
equilibration  of  energy.  There  is  much  work  to  be  done, 
however,  before  the  ramifications  of  this  process  through 
all  our  human  relationships  will  be  fully  understood. 

But  in  the  subjective  interpretation  it  will  be  necessary, 
as  we  alreadv  know,  to  start  from  that  new  datum  which 
has  been  sought  for  hitherto  without  success,  but  which 
can  now  no  longer  remain  unperceived  in  the  narrowing 
range  of  inquiry.  Sociology  must  go  right  from  this  time 
forth,  as  Mr.  Spencer  says  that  humanity  does  in  the  long 
run,  because  it  has  tried  all  possible  ways  of  going  wrong. 
Since  contract  and  alliance  are  phenomena  obviously  more 
special  than  association  or  society,  and  imitation  and  im¬ 
pression  are  phenomena  obviously  more  general,  we  must 
look  for  the  psychic  datum,  motive,  or  principle  of  society 
in  the  one  phenomenon  that  is  intermediate.  Accord¬ 
ingly,  the  sociological  postulate  can  be  no  other  than  this, 
namely:  The  original  and  elementary  subjective  fact  in 
society  is  the  consciousness  of  kind.  By  this  term  I  mean 
a  state  of  consciousness  in  which  any  being,  whether  low 
or  high  in  the  scale  of  life,  recognizes  another  conscious 
being  as  of  like  kind  with  itself.  Such  a  conscious- 
1  “  The  Study  of  Sociology,”  Chap.  I. 


18 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ness  may  be  an  effect  of  impression  and  imitation,  but  it  is 
not  the  only  effect  that  they  produce.  It  may  cause  con¬ 
tract  and  alliance,  but  it  causes  other  things  as  well.  It 
is  therefore  less  general  than  impression  and  imitation, 
which  are  more  general  than  association.  It  is  more  gen¬ 
eral  than  contract  and  alliance,  which  are  less  general  than 
association.  It  acts  on  conduct  in  many  ways,  and  all  the 
conduct  that  we  can  properly  call  social  is  determined  by 
it.  In  short,  it  fulfils  the  sociological  requirement ;  it  is 
coextensive  with  potential  society  and  with  nothing  else. 

In  its  widest  extension  the  consciousness  of  kind  marks 
off  the  animate  from  the  inanimate.  Within  the  wide 
class  of  the  animate  it  next  marks  off  species  and  races. 
Within  racial  lines  the  consciousness  of  kind  underlies 
the  more  definite  ethnical  and  political  groupings,  it  is  the 
basis  of  class  distinctions,  of  innumerable  forms  of  alliance, 
of  rules  of  intercourse,  and  of  peculiarities  of  policy.  Our 
conduct  towards  those  whom  we  feel  to  be  most  like  our¬ 
selves  is  instinctively  and  rationally  different  from  our 
conduct  towards  others,  whom  we  believe  to  be  less  like 
ourselves. 

Again,  it  is  the  consciousness  of  kind,  and  nothing  else, 
which  distinguishes  social  conduct,  as  such,  from  purely 
economic,  purely  political,  or  purely  religious  conduct; 
for  it  is  precisely  the  consciousness  of  kind  that,  in  actual 
life,  continually  interferes  with  the  theoretically  perfect 
operation  of  the  economic,  the  political,  or  the  religious 
motive.  The  workingman  who,  in  pursuing  his  economic 
interest,  would  take  the  best  wages  that  he  could  get,  joins 
in  a  strike  which  he  does  not  understand,  or  of  which  he 
does  not  approve,  rather  than  cut  himself  off  from  his 
fellows  to  be  a  scab  among  scabs.  For  a  similar  reason, 
the  manufacturer  who  questions  the  value  of  protection  to 
his  own  industry,  yet  pays  his  contribution  to  the  protec¬ 
tionist  campaign  fund.  The  southern  gentleman  who 
believed  in  the  cause  of  the  Union  none  the  less  threw 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  IDEA 


19 


in  his  fortunes  with  the  confederacy  if  he  felt  himself  to 
be,  on  the  whole,  one  of  the  southern  people  and  a  stranger 
to  the  people  of  the  North.  The  liberalizing  of  creeds  is 
accomplished  by  the  efforts  of  men  who  are  no  longer  able 
to  accept  traditional  interpretations,  but  who  strongly  desire 
to  maintain  associations  which  it  would  be  painful  to  sever. 

In  a  word,  it  is  about  the  consciousness  of  kind,  as  a  de¬ 
termining  principle,  that  all  other  motives  organize  them¬ 
selves  in  the  evolution  of  social  choice,  social  volition,  or 
social  policy.  Therefore,  to  trace  the  operation  of  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  through  all  its  social  manifestations  is 
to  work  out  a  complete  subjective  interpretation  of  society. 

Such,  respective^,  are  the  objective  and  the  subjective 
postulates  of  sociology.  They  correspond  to  ultimate 
modes  of  the  external  force  and  the  internal  motive,  that 
endlessly  play  upon  one  another  in  social  evolution.  The 
theory  of  their  reactions,  which  it  is  the  object  of  soci¬ 
ology  to  formulate  and  to  demonstrate,  must  necessarily 
remain  imperfect  in  many  points  of  detail  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  In  broad  outline,  however,  I  venture  to  think,  it 
must  take  some  such  form  as  this  : 

Social  aggregations  are  formed  at  first  by  external  con¬ 
ditions,  such  as  food  supply,  temperature,  and  the  contact 
or  conflict  of  individuals  or  stocks ;  and  because  of  the 
segregating  action  of  all  incident  forces,  aggregations  as  a 
rule  are  composed  chiefly  of  like  units.  So  far  the  proc¬ 
ess  is  physical. 

But  presently,  within  the  aggregation,  a  consciousness 
of  kind  appears  in  like  individuals  and  develops  into 
association.  Association,  in  its  turn,  begins  to  react 
favourably  on  the  pleasures  and  on  the  life  chances  of 
individuals.  Individuals  become  aware  of  this  fact,  and 
the  volitional  process  begins.  Thenceforward  the  asso¬ 
ciated  individuals  deliberately  seek  to  extend  and  to  per¬ 
fect  their  social  relations.  Accordingly,  individual  and 


20 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


social  choices  become  important  factors  in  social  causation. 
Among  scores  of  social  relations  and  activities  that  are 
accidentally  established,  tried,  or  thought  of,  some  appeal 
to  consciousness  as  agreeable  or  desirable,  while  others 
arouse  antagonism.  The  associated  individuals  select, 
endeavouring  to  strengthen  and  to  perpetuate  some  rela¬ 
tions,  to  make  an  end  of  others.  In  all  this  process,  asso¬ 
ciation,  social  choice,  and  social  will  are  determined  by 
the  consciousness  of  kind. 

Now,  however,  the  physical  process  reappears.  Choices 
have  various  consequences.  Judged  broadly,  in  their 
bearing  on  the  vigour,  the  development,  and  the  welfare 
of  the  community,  choices  may  be  ignorant,  foolish,  and 
harmful,  or  enlightened,  wise,  and  beneficial.  Here,  then, 
is  a  new  and  almost  limitless  field  for  natural  selection 
to  work  in.  In  the  struggle  for  existence,  choices,  no  less 
than  individuals,  may  or  may  not  survive.  The  choices 
and  the  resulting  activities  and  relations  that,  on  the  whole, 
are  baneful  are  terminated,  perhaps  through  the  subor¬ 
dination  or  the  extinction  of  individuals,  perhaps  through 
the  disappearance  of  whole  societies. 

Thus  the  cycle  of  social  causation  begins  and  ends  in 
the  physical  process.  Between  beginning  and  completion 
is  the  volitional  process  of  artificial  selection  or  of  con¬ 
scious  choosing  as  determined  by  the  consciousness  of 
kind.  But  this  is  by  no  means  a  substitution  of  an  arti¬ 
ficial  for  a  natural  process,  as  Mr.  Ward  contends.  It  is 
merely  an  enormous  multiplication  of  the  variations  on 
which  natural  selection  finally  acts. 

Accordingly,  the  sociologist  has  three  main  quests. 
First,  he  must  try  to  discover  the  conditions  that  deter¬ 
mine  mere  aggregation  and  concourse.  Secondly,  he 
must  try  to  discover  the  law  that  governs  social  choices, 
the  law,  that  is,  of  the  subjective  process.  Thirdly,  he 
must  try  to  discover  also  the  law  that  governs  the  nat¬ 
ural  selection  and  the  survival  of  choices,  the  law,  that  is, 
of  the  objective  process. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Such  being  the  sociological  idea,  its  perfect  unfolding 
as  a  science  will  depend  chiefly  upon  its  inherent  truth. 
Limiting  conditions,  however,  are  imposed  by  the  division 
of  labour  that  is  already  established  in  scientific  research. 
A  living  science,  holding  the  allegiance  of  practical  inves¬ 
tigators,  is  likely  to  be  something  less  or  something  more 
than  an  organic  part  of  a  philosopher’s  system  of  knowl¬ 
edge.  Comte  invented  the  word  “sociology”  and  built 
up  a  sociological  theory,  because  he  felt  that  the  “  philoso¬ 
phic  positive  ”  would  be  but  a  sorry  fragment  if  left  without 
a  body  of  humanist  doctrine  to  supplement  biology.  Mr. 
Spencer,  with  the  results  of  a  later  and  most  brilliant 
half-century  of  discovery  at  his  command,  adopted  the 
word  and  remoulded  the  doctrine,  because  he  realized  that 
a  complete  account  of  universal  evolution  must  explain 
the  origin  and  structure  of  human  societies  no  less  than 
the  genesis  of  species  and  the  integration  of  star-dust. 
But  now  the  question  must  be  raised,  How  much  of 
this  doctrine  belongs  properly  within  any  one  science? 
A  social  philosophy  of  Comtist  or  Spencerian  dimensions 
ought  at  the  outset  to  determine  its  province  by  defining 
its  relation  to  other  branches  of  knowledge;  first  to 
psychology,  and  secondly  to  those  narrower  sciences  that 
have  been  dividing  among  themselves  a  patient  and  fruit¬ 
ful  study  of  no  small  portion  of  observable  social  phenom¬ 
ena.  We  ought  not  to  assume,  without  further  analysis, 
that  the  natural  interpretation  of  society  is  not  a  part  of 

21 


22 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


systematic  psychology,  or  that  it  is  the  function  of  one 
single,  all-embracing  sociology.  Psychologists  have  made 
many  of  the  most  valuable  sociological  studies,  and  the 
particular  social  sciences  have  not  been  altogether  devoid 
of  the  positive  character. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  subjective  interpretation 
of  social  phenomena  the  province  of  sociology  is  easily 
defined.  An  obvious  deduction  from  the  first  principle 
that  was  stated  in  the  preceding  chapter  is  that  sociology, 
while  subsumed  under  psychology,  is  clearly  differentiated 
from  it.  Psychology  studies  the  genesis  of  the  different 
states  of  consciousness.  Sociology  studies  the  phenomena 
that  are  consequent  upon  one  state  in  particular,  namely, 
the  consciousness  of  kind.  In  like  manner,  the  subordi¬ 
nation  of  the  special  social  sciences  to  sociology  is  another 
necessary  conclusion  from  our  first  principle.  The  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  undergoes  integration  and  differentia¬ 
tion.  Sometimes  its  differentiated  forms  conflict  among 
themselves,  or  with  the  parent  form.  They  then  often 
appear  as  motives  wholly  distinct  from  the  consciousness 
of  kind,  though  in  fact  they  are  derived  from  it.  Again, 
when  so  disguised,  they  may  combine  with  motives  that 
have  originated  in  the  direct  relation  of  the  individual 
to  physical  nature,  or  in  his  consciousness  of  his  separa¬ 
tion,  as  an  individual,  from  kindred  of  every  sort.  The 
economic  motive  is  a  good  example :  the  desire  for  wealth 
originates  in  physical  needs,  but  it  is  powerfully  rein¬ 
forced  by  the  consciousness  of  kind  in  the  form  of  a  mas¬ 
tering  wish  to  emulate,  to  impress,  or  to  command  one’s 
fellow-beings.  These  complex  motives,  in  which  the 
consciousness  of  kind  appears  as  a  real,  though  perhaps 
a  disguised  and  modified  element,  are  the  postulates 
of  the  special  social  sciences,  for  example,  political  econ¬ 
omy,  and  the  science  of  the  state.  The  special  social 
sciences  therefore  are  subordinate  to  sociology. 

But  these  are  a  priori  conclusions.  Do  they  corre- 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


23 


spond  to  distinctions  that  have  become  established  in 
scientific  experience  ?  The  claim  of  sociology  to  rank  as 
the  master  science  of  society  is  important  enough  to 
justify  a  patient  consideration  of  this  question.  We  will 
test  these  a  priori  conclusions,  therefore,  by  looking  at 
the  actual  differentiation  of  scientific  thought  at  the 
present  time.1 

It  is  necessary  first  to  examine  the  relations  of  sociol¬ 
ogy  to  psychology.  Whatever  else  a  society  is,  it  is  a 
phenomenon  of  conscious  association,  and  the  field  of 
sociology  is  certainly  not  marked  out  until  we  know 
whether  in  the  nature  of  things  as  interpreted  by  psychol¬ 
ogy,  there  is  any  reason  for  classifying  the  psychological 
phenomena  of  society  apart  from  those  of  individuals. 

According  to  accepted  views,  biology  and  psychology 
are  studies  of  life  as  influenced  by  environment.  In 
biology  we  study  an  adjustment  of  the  physical  changes 
within  an  organism  to  external  relations  that  are  compara¬ 
tively  few,  simple,  and  constant.  In  psychology  we  study 
an  adjustment  of  the  conscious  changes  within  an  organ¬ 
ism  to  external  relations  of  wide  extent  in  time  and  space 
and  of  the  utmost  complexity.2 

Among  the  conscious  changes  those  that  enter  into  the 


1  The  recent  interest  in  this  question  is  reflected  in  numerous  con¬ 
tributions  to  periodicals.  Cf.  Worms,  “  La  sociologie  et  l’4conomie 
politique,”  Revue  International  de  Sociologie,  Vol.  II.,  No.  6,  June,  1894, 
and  “  La  sociologie  et  le  droit,”  same  review,  Vol.  III.,  No.  1,  January, 
1895  ;  Small,  Patten,  and  others,  “  The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Econom¬ 
ics,”  Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association ,  Vol.  X.,  No.  3, 
Supplement,  March,  1895 ;  Powers,  “  Terminology  and  the  Sociological 
Conference,”  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science,  Vol.  V.,  No.  5,  March,  1895;  Bentley,  “The  Units  of  Investiga¬ 
tion  in  the  Social  Sciences,”  same  journal,  Vol.  V.,  No.  6,  May,  1895; 
and  Ward,  “  The  Place  of  Sociology  among  Sciences,”  The  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  I.,  No.  1,  July,  1895. 

2  Spencer,  “  The  Principles  of  Psychology,”  Vol.  I.,  Part.  I.,  Chap* 
VII.,  §  54,  and  Part  III.,  Chaps.  IV.  and  V. 


24 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


phenomena  which  we  call  social  are  obviously  more  com¬ 
plex  and  special  than  some  others.  For  a  time  possibly, 
at  the  very  dawning  of  consciousness,  the  environment  of 
sentiency  is  physical  and  organic,  but  not  social.  At  all 
times,  certainly,  a  great  part  of  the  outward  world  to  which 
consciousness  must  adapt  itself,  is  physical  and  organic, 
rather  than  social.  Moreover,  while  social  conditions  are 
complex  and  variable,  physical  conditions  are  comparatively 
simple  and  are  constant;  they  are  also  universal.  It  is 
through  contact  with  them  that  permanent  associations  of 
ideas  are  established,  and  that  the  mind  arrives  at  notions 
of  cosmic  law. 

Psychology,  then,  whether  or  not  it  includes  a  study  of 
social  relations,  is  undoubtedly  concerned  with  the  genesis 
and  with  the  combinations  of  the  elements  of  mind.  How 
sensations  are  blended  in  perception ;  how  perceptions  are 
combined  in  imagination  and  in  thought;  how  thought, 
feeling,  and  impulse  are  coordinated  in  that  marvellous  com¬ 
posite,  the  individual  self-consciousness,  these  problems  at 
least  are  for  psychology  to  state,  and,  if  it  can,  to  solve. 

Nevertheless,  the  phenomena  of  conscious  association 
do  not  end  with  the  appearance  of  the  individual  mind. 
They  are  then  only  engendered.  Individual  minds,  as 
units,  become  the  elements  of  that  vastly  more  extensive 
and  intricate  association  of  animal  with  animal,  of  man 
with  man,  and  of  group  with  group  which  creates  the 
varied  relations  of  social  life. 

The  natural  demarcation  here  revealed  is  quite  as  obvi¬ 
ous  as  that  which  separates  psychological  from  biological 
phenomena.  If  it  is  legitimate  to  make  psychology  a 
science  distinct  from  biology,  it  is  no  less  legitimate  to 
mark  off  sociology  from  psychology,  by  restricting  psy¬ 
chology  to  a  study  of  the  phenomena  of  the  individual  mind 
and  by  assigning  to  sociology  the  investigation  of  the  more 
special  and  complex  phenomena  of  minds  in  association 
with  one  another.  If  this  is  done,  psychology,  dealing  with 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


25 


phenomena  that  are  on  the  whole  more  general  than  the 
phenomena  of  society,  must  rank  as  a  science  precedent  to 
sociology.  Psychology  is  the  science  of  the  association 
of  ideas.  Sociology  is  the  science  of  the  association  of 
minds. 

This  differentiation  is  made  more  definite  by  certain 
further  considerations.  The  association  of  minds  creates 
external  forms  and  relations.  Minds  react  on  their  own 
modes  of  association,  and  association,  thus  characterized 
by  definite  modes  and  conforming  to  organized  forms,  be¬ 
comes  for  each  individual  a  social  environment,  a  medium 
lying  between  consciousness  and  external  nature.  Thence¬ 
forth  the  direct  adaptation  or  adjustment  of  mental  life  is 
to  society.  Adjustment  to  the  wider  world  beyond  is  indi¬ 
rect,  through  society.  Society  becomes,  in  short,  a  special 
and  most  important  part  of  the  “  outward  states.”  More 
rapidly  and  thoroughly  than  any  other  part  of  the  environ¬ 
ment  it  produces  favourable  “  inward  states  ”  in  the  associ¬ 
ated  individuals.  It  creates  sympathy  and  the  moral 
nature,  the  capacity  for  pleasure,  and  the  power  of  abstract 
thought  and  of  speech.  In  their  turn  these  powers  of  mind 
react  upon  society.  Conscious  that  their  social  relations  are 
their  most  important  means  of  defence,  succour,  pleasure, 
and  development,  individuals  endeavour  to  conserve  and 
to  perfect  them.  Society  becomes  a  consciously  cherished 
thing,  and  to  an  increasing  extent  a  product  of  conscious 
planning.  Out  of  thoughts  and  feelings  grow  those  forms 
of  association  that  are  deliberate  or  of  purpose.  More  and 
more,  therefore,  social  activities  and  relations  come  to  be 
outward  products  of  inward  states. 

Here  is  found  the  deeper  reason  for  the  broad  distinction 
which,  for  purposes  of  scientific  investigation,  and  there¬ 
fore  for  a  classification  of  the  sciences,  should  be  observed 
between  a  study  of  conscious  phenomena  that  is  properly 
psychological  and  one  that  is  properly  sociological.  In 


26 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


both  biology  and  psychology  phenomena  within  the  organ¬ 
ism  are  regarded  as  effects,  and  relations  in  the  environ¬ 
ment  as  causes.  On  turning  to  social  phenomena  it  is 
discovered  that  activities  within  the  organism  have  become 
conspicuous  as  causes.  They  have  created  a  wonderful 
structure  of  external  relationships,  and  have  even  modified 
the  fauna  and  the  flora  and  the  surface  of  the  earth  within 
their  environment.  The  progressive  adjustment  between 
internal  and  external  relations  has  become  reciprocal. 

Psychology  thus  is  the  science  of  the  elements  and  of 
the  genesis  of  mental  phenomena,  as  determined  by  phys¬ 
ical  and  organic  relations.  Sociology  is  the  science  of 
mental  phenomena  in  their  higher  complications  and  reac¬ 
tions,  and  of  the  constructive  evolution  of  a  social  medium, 
through  which  the  adaptations  of  life  and  its  environment 
become  reciprocal. 

In  their  philosophical  relations,  therefore,  biology,  psy¬ 
chology,  and  sociology  are  sciences  corresponding  to  a  gra¬ 
dation  of  phenomena.  Biology  is  the  general  science  of 
life,  but  it  surrenders  to  psychology  a  study  of  the  wider 
adjustments  of  the  organism  in  space  and  time,  through 
the  evolution  of  mind.  Psychology  is  the  general  science 
of  mind,  but,  in  its  turn,  it  surrenders  to  sociology  a  study 
of  the  interaction  of  minds,  and  of  the  reciprocal  adjust¬ 
ments  of  life  and  its  environment  through  the  evolution  of 
a  social  medium. 

In  examining  now  the  relations  of  sociology  to  the  spe¬ 
cial  social  sciences,  it  is  necessary  to  observe  a  distinction 
that  is  rather  refined,  and  which,  for  that  reason  perhaps, 
is  too  often  overlooked.  Phenomena  may  be  described  as 
differentiated  from  phenomena  that  are  more  general  than 
themselves,  or  as  differentiations  of  more  general  phe¬ 
nomena.  In  the  one  case  variation  goes  so  far  that  the 
unlikeness  of  the  derived  phenomena  to  the  parent  phe¬ 
nomena  becomes  more  conspicuous  than  the  resemblance. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


27 


In  the  other  case  differentiation  is  real,  but  it  stops  short 
of  extreme  variation.  Resemblance  remains  more  conspic¬ 
uous  than  unlikeness.  Accordingly,  we  ought  to  say 
that  psychological  phenomena  are  differentiated  from  bio¬ 
logical  phenomena,  but  that  physiological  and  morphologi¬ 
cal  processes  are  differentiations  of  a  biological  process.  In 
like  manner  we  must  regard  sociological  phenomena  as 
differentiated/row  psychological  phenomena,  but  emotional 
and  rational  processes  we  should  think  of  as  mere  differen¬ 
tiations  of  the  psychological  process  in  general.  Finally, 
economic,  political,  and  cultural  phenomena  are  only  differ¬ 
entiations  of  social  phenomena ;  they  are  not  so  unlike  the 
more  general  phases  of  association  that  we  can  speak  of 
them  as  differentiated  from  social  phenomena. 

Now  when  one  class  of  phenomena  is  differentiated  from 
another  class,  there  will  be  little  or  no  disposition  to  ques¬ 
tion  the  propriety  of  assigning  the  two  classes  to  distinct 
sciences.  Biology  and  psychology,  psychology  and  soci¬ 
ology,  are  easily  separated.  But  when  phenomena  that 
are  mere  differentiations  of  a  general  process  are  distrib¬ 
uted  among  several  special  sciences,  the  question  at  once 
arises,  whether  anything  then  remains  of  the  general 
science,  or,  if  the  particular  sciences  have  been  developed 
first,  whether  then  a  general  science  of  all  the  phenomena 
in  their  unity  can  be  constructed. 

This  question  has  given  sociologists  much  trouble.  It 
states  the  whole  problem  of  the  relation  of  sociology  to 
the  special  social  sciences,  and  expresses  the  disbelief  of 
those  who  do  not  admit  the  necessity,  or  even  the  possi¬ 
bility,  of  any  other  sociology  than  that  which  is  found  in 
the  social  sciences  collectively.  Therefore  in  any  attempt 
to  determine  the  province  of  sociology  it  is  necessary  to 
examine  this  question  with  some  care. 

One  group  of  social  studies,  known  collectively  as  the 
political  sciences,  includes  political  economy,  the  philoso¬ 
phy  of  law  and  the  theory  of  the  state.  Another  group 


28 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


includes  archaeology,  comparative  philology,  and  the  com¬ 
parative  study  of  religions.  Is  the  subject-matter  of  soci¬ 
ology  other  than  that  which  is  examined  by  these  sciences  ? 
Apparently  it  cannot  be,  inasmuch  as  these  sciences  to¬ 
gether  cover  nearly  or  quite  the  entire  field  of  social  phe¬ 
nomena.  If  the  subject-matter  then  is  the  same,  does 
sociology  include  these  various  departments  of  investiga¬ 
tion  ?  If  it  does  include  them,  is  it  anything  more  than  a 
collective  name  for  the  sum  of  the  social  sciences?  As¬ 
suming  that  it  is  more  than  a  collective  name,  does  it  set 
aside  the  theoretical  principles  of  the  special  social  sciences, 
or  does  it  substitute  others  for  them,  or  does  it  adopt  and 
coordinate  them  ? 

According  to  the  Spencerian  conception,  political  econ¬ 
omy,  jurisprudence,  the  theory  of  the  state,  and  such 
branches  of  knowledge  as  comparative  philology,  are  dif¬ 
ferentiated  parts  of  sociology,  and  are  therefore  sufficiently 
distinct  though  coordinated  sciences.  In  the  view  of 
Comte  they  are  not  true  sciences  at  all.  Comte’s  dispar¬ 
aging  notion  of  political  economy  is  too  well  known  to 
need  quotation.  The  life  of  society  he  conceived  as  indi¬ 
visible  ;  he  believed  that  legitimate  science  could  study  it 
only  as  a  whole.  It  is  the  Spencerian  view  that  one  en¬ 
counters  in  modern  discussions,  accompanied,  however, 
more  often  than  not,  by  plain  intimations  that  only  the 
subdivisions  of  sociology  —  the  specialized  social  sciences 
—  are  of  much  concern  to  serious  scholars.  Regarded  as 
a  whole  of  which  the  parts  are  definitely  organized  sciences 
that  already  are  grown  to  such  magnitude  that  the  best 
equipped  student  can  hardly  hope  to  master  any  one  of 
them  in  a  lifetime,  sociology  is  too  vast  a  subject  for  prac¬ 
tical  purposes.  One  might  as  well  apply  to  it  at  once 
Schopenhauer’s  epigrammatic  description  of  history  — 
“certainly  rational  knowledge,  but  not  a  science.” 

Yet  the  word  “sociology  ”  will  not  be  put  by.  A  writer 
no  sooner  resolves  that  he  will  not  take  all  social  know!- 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


29 


edge  for  his  province  than  he  tries  to  find  a  substance  for 
the  disembodied  name.  So  it  turns  out  that  every  social 
philosopher  creates  a  sociology  in  the  image  of  his  profes¬ 
sional  specialty.  To  the  economist  sociology  is  a  penum- 
bral  political  economy  —  a  scientific  outer  darkness  —  for 
inconvenient  problems  and  obstinate  facts  that  will  not 
live  peaceably  with  well-bred  formulas.  To  the  alienist 
and  the  criminal  anthropologist  it  is  a  social  pathology. 
To  the  ethnologist  it  is  that  subdivision  of  his  own  sci¬ 
ence  which  supplements  the  account  of  racial  traits  by  a 
description  of  social  organization.  To  the  comparative 
mythologist  and  the  student  of  folklore  it  is  an  account 
of  the  evolution  of  culture. 

A  living  science  is  not  created  in  this  way.  It  grows 
from  a  distinct  nucleus.  It  becomes  every  decade  more 
clearly  individuated.  It  makes  for  itself  a  plainly  circum¬ 
scribed  field.  Its  problems  are  unmistakably  different 
from  those  of  any  other  department  of  investigation. 

These  limitations  seem  to  have  been  perceived  more 
clearly  by  some  other  people  than  by  the  sociologists  them¬ 
selves.  A  suggestive  disagreement  of  opinion  between 
two  eminent  educators  in  the  University  of  Brussels  has 
put  the  matter  in  the  strongest  possible  light.  Professor 
Guillaume  De  Greef,  in  the  preface  to  the  “  Premiere 
Partie  ”  of  his  “  Introduction  a  la  sociologie,”  written  in 
1886,  made  an  earnest  plea  for  the  creation  of  chairs  and 
even  faculties  of  sociology,  which  should  impart  instruc¬ 
tion  in  accordance  with  a  certain  classification  of  social 
phenomena  that  Professor  De  Greef  makes  very  important 
in  his  system.  This  classification  is  one  of  the  all-compre¬ 
hending  schemes.  It  includes  everything,  from  the  hus¬ 
banding  of  corn  and  wine  to  electioneering  contests  in  the 
Institute  of  France.  At  the  opening  of  the  university,  on 
October  15,  1888,  the  rector,  M.  Van  Der  Rest,  took  “La 
Sociologie”  as  the  theme  of  his  discourse,  which  was  a 
critical  examination  of  the  philosophical  relations  of  the 


30 


PRINCIPLES  OE  SOCIOLOGY 


social  sciences.  Sociology  was  characterized  as  “a  badly 
determined  science,  that  presents  no  well-defined  line  of 
demarcation  from  the  moral  and  political  sciences,  and 
that  touches  the  most  varied  questions,  all  of  which, 
nevertheless,  are  comprised  within  the  limits  of  the  studies 
of  existing  chairs.” 

The  rector’s  own  view  of  sociology  was  summed  up  as 
follows :  “  I  adopt  the  word  but  simply  as  the  name  of  a 
concept  of  the  human  mind.  Accepting  the  meaning  that 
has  been  given  to  it,  I  would  mean  by  it  the  science  of 
social  phenomena.  But  I  would  add  that  if  we  go  beyond 
the  domain  of  abstraction,  the  science  so  defined  can  be 
understood  in  one  of  two  ways  only :  either  it  will  have 
for  its  object  a  study  of  men  united  in  society,  including 
all  the  facts  that  it  can  find  in  social  life,  disengaging  their 
laws  and  connecting  the  social  present  with  the  past  and 
the  future  —  in  which  case  the  science  cannot  be  con¬ 
structed,  and  will  be  nothing  more  than  the  ensemble  of 
our  political  and  moral  sciences  bound  together  in  a  chi¬ 
merical  unity ;  or  it  will  consist  only  of  general  views  on 
social  progress,  and  then  it  seems  to  me  impossible  to 
make  out  the  line  of  demarcation  that  separates  sociology 
from  a  much  older  science,  the  philosophy  of  history.”  1 

We  need  not  accept  M.  Van  der  Rest’s  conclusion  that 
a  concrete  sociology  must  be  either  the  ensemble  of  the 
moral  and  political  sciences  or  a  philosophy  of  history,  but 
we  may  agree  with  him  that  if  it  is  an  indefinite,  badly 
determined  thing,  it  cannot  be  a  university  study.  Soci¬ 
ology  cannot  be  taught  as  an  organon  of  the  social  sciences, 
or  yet  as  a  mass  of  unrelated  facts  left  over  from  other 
researches. 

Clear  thinking  and  a  discriminating  use  of  terms  will 
create  order  from  the  confusion  and  will  establish  sociology 
in  its  rightful  place,  where  it  can  no  longer  encroach  on 
the  territory  of  other  sciences  or  be  crowded  out  of  the 


1  “  La  sociologie.” 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


31 


field  by  them.  Sociology  is  a  general  social  science,  but 
a  general  science  is  not  necessarily  a  group  of  sciences. 
No  doubt  the  word  will  continue  to  be  used  as  a  short 
term  for  the  social  sciences  taken  collectively.  Again,  in 
a  synthetic  philosophy  like  Mr.  Spencer’s  it  can  always  be 
legitimately  used  to  denote  an  explanation  of  social  evolu¬ 
tion  in  broad  outlines  of  abstract  truth.  But  the  sociology 
of  the  working  sociologist,  and  of  the  university,  will  be 
a  definite  and  concrete  body  of  knowledge  that  can  be  pre¬ 
sented  in  the  class-room  and  be  worked  over  in  the  semi- 
narium.  These  last  conditions  are  crucial  for  the  existence 
of  the  science;  for  when  sociology  has  as  distinct  a  place  in 
the  working  programme  of  the  university  as  has  political 
economy  or  psychology,  its  scientific  claims  will  be  beyond 
cavil.  But  that  will  be  only  when  educated  men  have 
learned  to  conceive  of  sociology  as  distinctly  and  con¬ 
cretely  as  they  conceive  of  other  sciences.  The  word  must 
instantly  call  to  mind  a  particular  class  of  phenomena  and 
a  definite  group  of  coordinated  problems. 

That  such  distinct,  concrete  conceptions  will,  in  time, 
displace  the  vague  notions  now  afloat,  is  beyond  reasonable 
doubt.  By  methods  of  sound  logic,  and  with  guidance 
from  the  history  of  other  sciences,  sociology  can  be  defi¬ 
nitely  marked  off  from  the  special  social  sciences.  When¬ 
ever  phenomena  belonging  to  a  single  class,  and  therefore 
properly  the  subject-matter  of  a  single  science,  are  so 
numerous  and  so  complicated  that  no  one  investigator 
can  hope  to  become  acquainted  with  them  all,  they  will 
be  divided  among  many  particular  sciences  ;  yet  there  may 
be  a  general  science  of  the  phenomena  in  their  entirety,  as 
a  class,  on  one  condition*  namely,  the  general  science  must 
deal  with  attributes  of  the  class  that  are  common  to  all  of 
its  sub-classes  and  not  with  the  particular  attributes  of  any 
sub-class.  Such  common  attributes  are  elementary.  Gen¬ 
eral  principles  are  fundamental.  A  general  science,  there¬ 
fore,  is  a  science  of  elements  and  first  principles. 


32 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


General  biology  affords  the  most  helpful  analogy.  The 
word  “biology,”  first  used  by  Lamarck',  was  adopted  by 
Comte,  who  proposed  “sociology,”  and  he  used  both  the 
one  and  the  other  for  like  reasons.  He  believed  in  a 
science  of  life  as  a  whole,  as  in  a  science  of  society  as  a 
whole.  But  “biology,”  like  “sociology,”  had  no  vogue 
until  Mr.  Spencer  took  it  up.  All  but  the  youngest  of  our 
scientific  men  can  remember  when  it  began  to  creep  into  col¬ 
lege  and  university  catalogues.  Neither  the  word  nor  the 
idea  obtained  recognition  without  a  struggle.  What  was 
there  in  general  biology,  the  objectors  said,  that  was  not 
already  taught  as  “natural  history,”  or  as  botany  and 
zoology  or  as  anatomy  and  physiology  ?  The  reply  of  the 
biologists  was,  that  the  essential  phenomena  of  life  —  cel¬ 
lular  structure,  nutrition  and  waste,  growth  and  reproduc¬ 
tion,  adaptation  to  environment,  and  natural  selection — are 
common  to  animal  and  plant ;  that  structure  and  function 
are  unintelligible  apart  from  each  other ;  and  that  the  stu¬ 
dent  will  therefore  get  a  false  or  distorted  view  of  his  subject 
unless  he  is  made  to  see  the  phenomena  of  life  in  their 
unity  as  well  as  in  their  special  phases.  He  should  study 
botany  and  zoology,  of  course,  but  he  should  first  be 
grounded  in  general  biology,  the  science  of  the  essential 
and  universal  phenomena  of  life  under  all  its  varied  forms. 
This  view  of  the  matter  won  its  way  by  mere  inherent 
truthfulness  and  good  sense.  General  biology  became  a 
working  laboratory  science,  conceived  and  pursued  as  a 
groundwork  of  more  special  biological  sciences. 

The  question  about  sociology  is  precisely  similar  and 
must  be  answered  in  the  same  way.  What  aspect  of  social 
life  is  not  already  brought  under  scrutiny  in  one  or  more 
of  the  economic,  political,  or  historical  courses  already 
provided  in  well-organized  universities  ?  Perhaps  none ; 
yet,  as  the  sociologist  sees  it,  this  is  not  the  real  question. 
Is  society  after  all  a  whole  ?  Is  social  activity  continuous  ? 
Are  there  certain  essential  facts,  causes,  or  laws  in  society, 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


33 


which  are  common  to  communities  of  all  kinds,  at  all  times, 
and  which  underlie  and  explain  the  more  special  social 
forms?  If  we  must  answer  “yes,”  then  these  universal 
truths  should  be  taught.  To  teach  ethnology,  the  philoso¬ 
phy  of  history,  political  economy,  and  the  theory  of  the 
state,  to  men  who  have  not  learned  these  first  principles 
of  sociology,  is  like  teaching  astronom}?-  or  thermodynamics 
to  men  who  have  not  learned  the  Newtonian  laws  of  mo¬ 
tion.  An  analysis,  then,  of  the  general  characteristics  of 
social  phenomena  and  a  formulation  of  the  general  laws  of 
social  evolution  should  be  made  the  basis  of  special  study 
in  all  departments  of  social  science. 

Therefore  while  sociology  in  the  broadest  sense  of  the 
word  is  the  comprehensive  science  of  society,  coextensive 
with  the  entire  field  of  the  special  social  sciences,  in  a  nar¬ 
rower  sense,  and  for  purposes  of  university  study  and  of 
general  exposition,  it  may  be  defined  as  the  science  of  social 
elements  and  first  principles.  Because  of  the  limitations 
of  the  intellectual  life,  and  therefore  of  all  true  scientific 
work,  the  general  sociologist  must  be  content  to  study 
exhaustively  the  elementary  and  generic  phenomena  of  his 
vast  subject,  and  to  leave  the  endless  forms  of  combination 
to  other  investigators.  Moreover,  sociology  is  the  inclu¬ 
sive  and  cobrdinating,  only  as  it  is  the  fundamental,  social 
science.  So  far  from  being  merely  the  sum  of  the  social 
sciences  it  is  rather  their  common  basis.  Its  far-reaching 
principles  are  the  postulates  of  special  sciences,  and  as  such 
they  coordinate  the  whole  body  of  social  generalizations 
and  bind  them  together  in  a  large  scientific  whole.  Not 
concerned  with  every  aspect  and  grouping  of  social  phe¬ 
nomena,  fundamental  sociology  is  intermediate  between  the 
organic  sciences  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  political  and 
historical  sciences  on  the  other  hand.  Sociology  is  differ¬ 
entiated  from  psychology,  as  psychology  is  differentiated 
from  biology.  The  special  social  sciences  are  differentia¬ 
tions  of  sociology. 


34 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Yet,  after  all,  have  we  not  overlooked  an  important 
possibility?  May  it  not  be  that  the  fundamental  social 
science,  granting  that  there  must  be  one,  is  no  new  and 
unfamiliar  knowledge,  but  is  simply  one  of  those  older 
sciences  that  we  have  called  special ;  politics,  for  example, 
or  political  economy  ? 

The  fundamental  social  science,  whatever  it  is,  must 
not  take  for  granted  social  data  that  admit  of  scientific 
explanation  by  reduction  to  simpler  terms.  If  either 
political  economy  or  the  theory  of  the  state,  or  any  other 
social  science,  builds  on  assumptions  that  are,  demonstra¬ 
bly,  deductions  from  more  elementary  social  truths,  such 
a  science  has  no  claim  to  logical  precedence.  Whether 
its  interpretations  are  objective  or  subjective  in  form,  the 
ultimate  social  science  must  reduce  its  subject-matter  to 
primary  social  phenomena,  or  to  incipient  social  motives. 

So  far,  then,  as  the  objective  interpretation  is  concerned, 
neither  political  economy  nor  politics  can  pretend  that  it 
goes  back  to  primary  facts  in  the  social  category. 

Both  frankly  assume  without  explanation  the  phenomena 
of  human  association. 

It  is  true  that  systematic  works  on  political  economy 
have  usually  included  discussions  of  the  Malthusian  theory 
of  population,  and  of  the  hypothesis  of  the  diminishing 
returns  of  land,  and  have  thereby  put  forward  partial  ex¬ 
planations  of  the  interaction  between  population  and  its 
environment.  But  these  discussions  are  not  logically  parts 
of  political  economy  proper.  Many  of  the  text  writers 
have  long  since  recognized  that  they  are  merely  data,  the 
constructive  study  of  which,  on  their  own  merits,  must 
ultimately  fall  within  sociology.  Further,  even  if  we  in¬ 
clude  them  in  political  economy,  they  do  not  account  for 
association.  Population  may  increase  at  any  possible  rate, 
and,  on  account  of  the  unequal  returns  from  land,  the 
increase  may  be  distributed  unevenly,  sparsely  here  and 
densely  there,  but  people  do  not  therefore  necessarily 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


35 


associate.  As  much  as  this  political  economy  admits  by 
its  procedure,  for  in  all  its  further  discussions  —  of  co¬ 
operation  and  the  division  of  labour,  of  combination  and 
competition,  of  exchange  and  distribution  —  political  econ¬ 
omy  assumes  at  once  the  whole  social  milieu.  The  bene¬ 
fits  flowing  from  the  economic  forms  of  association  react 
favourably  on  association  in  general,  but  they  are  not  the 
first  cause  of  association.  They  could  not  have  come  into 
existence  before  association  itself  was  established. 

In  like  manner,  in  political  science  as  it  has  been  written, 
there  have  been,  since  Aristotle’s  day,  long  prefatory  ac¬ 
counts  of  the  origins  of  human  communities,  usually  mere 
elaborations  of  the  patriarchal  theory.  But  the  greatest 
step  forward  that  political  science  has  made  in  recent  years, 
has  been  its  discovery  that  its  province  is  not  coextensive 
with  the  investigation  of  society,  and  that  the  lines  of 
demarcation  can  be  definitely  drawn.  In  his  important 
work  on  “  Political  Science  and  Comparative  Constitu¬ 
tional  Law,”  Professor  Burgess  has  not  only  sharply  dis¬ 
tinguished  the  government  from  the  state,  but  for  the  first 
time  in  political  philosophy  he  has  clearly  distinguished 
the  state  as  it  is  organized  in  the  constitution  from  the 
state  behind  the  constitution.  “  A  population  speaking  a 
common  language  and  having  ideas  as  to  the  fundamental 
principles  of  rights  and  wrongs,  and  resident  upon  a  terri¬ 
tory  separated  by  high  mountain  ranges  or  broad  bodies  of 
water,  or  by  climatic  differences,  from  other  territory,” 1 
such  is  the  state  behind  the  constitution.  It  “  presents  us 
with  the  natural  basis  of  a  true  and  permanent  political 
establishment.”  It  is  “  the  womb  of  constitutions  and  of 
revolutions.”  Political  science  studies  the  state  within 
the  constitution  and  shows  how  it  expresses  its  will  in  acts 
of  government.  It  inquires  how  this  state  within  the  con¬ 
stitution  is  created  and  moulded  by  the  state  behind  the 

1  “  The  American  Commonwealth,”  Political  Science  Quarterly, V oh  I., 
No.  1,  March,  1886,  p.  13. 


36 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


constitution,  but  beyond  this  political  science  proper  does 
not  go.  The  state  behind  the  constitution,  or  natural 
society  as  we  should  otherwise  call  it,  is  for  politics,  as  for 
political  economy,  a  datum.  The  detailed  study  of  its 
origins  and  evolution  falls  within  the  province  of  sociology. 

Passing  now  to  subjective  interpretations,  or  the  expla¬ 
nation  of  social  phenomena  in  terms  of  motive,  it  appears 
that  here,  also,  the  special  social  sciences  assume  certain 
premises,  which,  on  further  examination,  are  found  to  be 
sociological  truths,  neither  simple  nor  elementary. 

W e  will  begin,  as  before,  with  political  economy.  Econo¬ 
mists  have  lately  gained  new  insight  into  the  nature  of  the 
premises  of  economic  theory.  They  are  no  longer  content 
to  describe  their  science  as  concerned  merely  with  material 
wealth.  The  psychological  nomenclature  that  is  finding 
its  way  so  rapidly  into  current  economic  discussion  is  sig¬ 
nificant  chiefly  of  new  points  of  view  and  of  an  important 
change  of  perspective.  The  purely  mental  phenomena  of 
wants  and  satisfactions  are  brought  into  the  foreground. 
The  production  of  material  commodities  is  no  longer  placed 
first  in  exposition ;  for  it  is  seen  that  certain  laws  of  eco¬ 
nomic  choice  govern  the  whole  process  of  production  and 
exchange.  Many  years  ago  President  Walker  described 
consumption  as  the  dynamics  of  wealth,  and  we  are  now  just 
beginning  to  understand  how  much  the  term  may  mean. 
Desires,  it  is  evident,  are  the  motive  forces  of  the  economic 
world.  According  to  their  varying  numbers,  intensities, 
and  forms  are  shaped  the  outward  activities  of  men  and  the 
myriad  phases  of  industry  and  trade. 

But  what,  then,  of  the  origin  of  desires  themselves? 
What  conditions  have  determined  their  evolution  from 
those  crude,  primitive  wants  of  a  purely  animal  existence, 
that  the  savage  shares  with  baboons  and  wild  gorillas,  up  to 
those  of  the  “  good  gorilla,”  as  Renan  has  called  him,  the 
man  of  gentle  instincts  and  cultivated  tastes  ?  These  are 
interesting  questions,  but  the  economist  does  not  answer 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


37 


them.  He  takes  desires  as  he  finds  them,  save  in  so  far  as 
he  finds  it  necessary,  in  working  out  the  dynamic  phases  of 
his  subject,  to  observe  the  reactions  of  economic  life  itself 
upon  desire.  But  in  general,  desires  are  for  him  the  prem¬ 
ises  of  an  intricate  deductive  scheme,  and  nothing  more. 

How  is  it  with  the  theory  of  the  state?  Political 
science,  too,  finds  its  premises  in  facts  of  human  nature. 
The  motive  forces  of  political  life,  as  of  economic  life,  are 
the  desires  of  men,  but  they  are  no  longer  merely  individ¬ 
ual  desires,  and  they  are  no  longer  desires  for  satisfactions 
that  must  come  for  the  most  part  in  material  forms.  They 
are  desires  massed  and  generalized ;  desires  felt  simultane¬ 
ously  and  continuously  by  thousands,  or  even  by  millions 
of  men,  who  are  by  them  simultaneously  moved  to  con¬ 
certed  action.  They  are  desires  of  what  we  may  call  the 
social  mind  in  distinction  from  the  individual  mind,  and 
they  are  chiefly  for  such  ideal  things  as  national  power  and 
renown,  or  conditions  of  liberty  and  peace.  Transmuted 
into  will,  they  become  the  phenomenon  of  sovereignty  — 
the  obedience-compelling  power  of  the  state.  Political 
science  describes  these  gigantic  forces  of  the  social  mind 
and  studies  their  action ;  but  it  concerns  itself  with  their 
genesis  no  more  than  political  economy  concerns  itself  with 
the  genesis  of  individual  desires.  It  simply  assumes  for 
every  nation  a  national  character,  and  is  content  that  the 
political  constitution  of  the  state  can  be  scientifically 
deduced  from  the  character  assumed.  It  takes  the  fact  of 
sovereignty  and  builds  upon  it,  and  does  not  speculate  how 
sovereignty  came  to  be,  as  did  Hobbes  and  Locke  and 
Rousseau.  It  starts  exactly  where  Aristotle  started,  with 
the  dictum  that  man  is  a  political  animal. 

There  is  a  group  of  sciences  that  are  concerned  with 
various  special  phases  of  the  social  mind.  The  foundation 
of  these  is  comparative  philology,  which  Renan,  writing  in 
1848  of  the  future  of  science,  with  clear  vision  and  with 
happy  phrase  described  as  “  the  exact  science  of  things 


38 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


intellectual.”  On  this  science  have  been  built  the  sciences 
of  comparative  mythology  and  comparative  religion,  and 
materials  are  even  now  accumulating  for  a  science  of  com¬ 
parative  art.  Of  all  these  sciences,  as  of  economics  and 
politics,  the  postulates,  not  always  distinctly  stated  but 
always  implied,  are  human  desires ;  for  aspiration  is  but 
desire  blending  itself  with  belief  and  rising  into  the  ideal. 
Unlike  economics  and  politics,  however,  these  sciences  of 
culture  do  to  some  extent  deal  directly  with  the  genesis  of 
the  mental  states  that  are  their  postulates.  But  they  study 
them  only  in  very  special  phases  and  with  a  narrowly  spe¬ 
cific  purpose.  Upon  the  broad  question  of  the  evolution 
and  ultimate  causation  of  desires  in  general  they  have  no 
occasion  to  enter. 

Thus  it  would  appear  that  there  is  no  one  of  the  recog¬ 
nized  social  sciences  which  investigates  the  origin  of  the 
motives  that  are  assumed  to  account  for  all  that  occurs 
in  the  social  life  of  mankind.  Yet  the  origin  is  not 
hidden.  The  causation  has  not  been  analyzed  because  it 
has  been  thought  that  so  simple  a  thing  could  not  need  an 
explanation.  Association,  comradeship,  and  cooperation 
have  converted  the  wild  gorilla  into  the  good  gorilla  and 
have  brought  it  to  pass  that,  in  the  quaint  words  of 
Bacon,  “there  is  in  man’s  nature  a  secret  inclination  and 
motion  towards  love  of  others,  which  if  it  be  not  spent  on 
some  one  or  a  few,  doth  naturally  spend  itself  towards 
many,  and  maketh  men  become  humane  and  charitable, 
as  it  is  seen  sometimes  in  friars.”  Or  to  drop  the  figure 
—  for  it  is  nothing  more,  since  the  human  progenitor 
must  have  been  a  social  and  companionable  sort  of  ape, 
and  no  gorilla  at  all  —  it  has  been  the  rubbing  together  of 
crude  natures  that  has  made  fine  natures.  It  has  been  the 
well-nigh  infinite  multiplication  of  sensations,  experiences, 
and  suggestions,  due  to  the  prolonged  and  intimate  gre¬ 
gariousness  of  human  hordes  in  those  favourable  environ¬ 
ments  where  population  could  become  relatively  dense, 


THE  PROVENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


39 


that  has  created  the  human  mind  and  filled  it  with  the 
innumerable  wants  that  impel  to  ceaseless  effort  and  to 
tireless  questioning  of  the  unknown.  That  as  “  iron  sharp¬ 
ened  iron  so  a  man  sharpened  the  countenance  of  his 
friend,”  was  the  earliest  and  the  greatest  discovery  ever 
made  in  sociology. 

If  the  foregoing  account  is  logical  and  true  to  fact, 
no  one  of  the  particular  social  sciences  is  the  primary 
science  of  society,  either  as  an  objective  or  as  a  subjective 
explanation. 

Remaining  to  be  considered,  however,  is  the  question 
whether  this  conclusion  holds  good  of  the  relation  of 
sociology  to  certain  abstract  sciences,  which,  though  not 
properly  social  sciences,  are  nevertheless  concerned  with 
phenomena  that  are  not  only  psychical  but  also  social  in 
character. 

Sociology  is  not  an  abstract  science,1  though  like  every 
other  true  science  it  employs  abstraction;  both  in  dis¬ 
criminating  the  phenomena  that  it  studies  from  phenom¬ 
ena  of  other  kinds,  and  in  following  out  the  operations  of 
the  particular  force  or  motive  by  which  the  phenomena  of 
this  given  class  are,  in  fact,  differentiated  from  phenomena 
of  other  classes.  An  abstract  science  is  one  that  thus 
traces  the  extension  or  the  working  of  a  single  principle, 
force,  or  motive,  through  all  its  manifestations,  and  at¬ 
tempts  nothing  more.  A  concrete  science  is  one  that 
does  all  that  an  abstract  science  does,  and  then  studies 
the  ways  in  which  the  manifestations  of  the  particular 
force  or  motive  that  it  has  discovered  are  combined  with 
the  manifestations  of  other  forces  or  motives  to  create  the 

1  “  There  is  no  abstract  science  of  sociology  which  leaves  out  of  sight 
the  special  complications  arising  from  the  interaction  of  concrete,  actually 
existing  communities.  Any  such  abstract  science  is  a  mere  figment  of  the 
imagination.  .  .  .”  Fiske,  “  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,”  Vol.  L, 
p.  213. 


40 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


concrete  groupings  of  the  real  world.  And  such,  exactly, 
is  the  scope  of  sociology.  Like  biology  and  psychology  it 
occupies  itself  with  concrete  groupings  of  phenomena. 
The  first  principles  of  social  evolution  that  it  formulates 
are  concrete  truths.1  It  is  a  descriptive,  historical,  and 
explanatory  account  of  society,  regarded  as  a  thoroughly 
concrete  reality.  In  like  manner,  the  special  social  sciences 
also,  as  differentiations  of  sociology,  are  concrete  studies. 

Admitting,  then,  that  political  economy  as  usually  de¬ 
fined  and  taught  is  a  special  social  science,  which  is  logi¬ 
cally  a  differentiation  of  sociology,  an  objector  may  claim 
that  we  now  have  an  abstract  or  pure  economics,  which 
consists  of  theories  of  subjective  utility,  subjective  cost, 
and  subjective  value,  and  which,  so  far  from  being  a 
part  or  branch  of  sociology,  is  logically  antecedent  to  all 
branches. 

From  another  quarter  may  come  a  similar  objection, 
that  abstract  ethics,  also,  regarded  as  a  science  of  ideal 
right,  is  an  analysis  of  social  motives,  and  is  therefore 
antecedent  to  sociology. 

These  objections  not  only  are  inherently  plausible,  but 
they  may  seem  to  derive  support  also  from  the  conceded 
necessity  of  subjective  interpretations  in  the  social  sciences 
generally.  If  choices  are  not  capricious,  are  they  not 
governed  by  considerations  of  utility  and  of  right?  Are 
not  subjective  utility  and  ideas  of  right  therefore  logically 
and  developmentally  antecedent  to  society  ?  Though 
there  were  no  society,  would  not  the  individual  who  lived 
in  contact  with  nature  enjoy  subjective  utility  every  time 
he  ate  his  food  or  lay  in  the  sun?  Might  he  not  have 
notions  of  right  and  wrong  ?  If  so,  are  not  the  theories  of 
utility  and  of  right  precedent  to  sociology  ? 

Without  entering  here  upon  a  discussion  of  any  theory 

1  Cf.  “Sociology  and  the  Abstract  Sciences,”  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  V.,  No.  5,  March,  1895, 
p.  95. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


41 


of  choices,  it  may  be  conceded  at  once  that  the  mere 
beginnings  of  utility  are  psychical  phenomena  antecedent 
to  society,  and,  at  the  same  time,  it  must  be  maintained 
that  all  subsequent  developments  of  utility  presuppose 
social  relations. 

In  the  modern  theory  of  subjective  utility,  as  formulated 
by  Bentham,  Gossen,  Jevons,  and  later  economists,  a  dis¬ 
tinction  is  made  between  initial  and  marginal1  utility. 
By  initial  utility  is  meant  the  satisfaction  due  to  the  con¬ 
sumption  of  a  first  necessary  portion,  or  increment,  of  any 
useful  commodity,  as,  for  example,  the  thirsty  man’s  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  a  single  glass  of  water.  By  marginal  utility  is 
meant  the  satisfaction  derived  from  a  final  increment ;  as 
from  the  last  half  glass  of  water  offered,  or  from  a  final 
mouthful  of  food.  This  distinction  has  been  regarded 
hitherto  as  purely  analytical  and  abstract,  and  as  valuable 
for  economic  theory  only.  In  fact  it  is  concrete  and  his¬ 
torical,  and  it  is  of  the  first  importance  for  sociology. 

No  argument  is  necessary  to  demonstrate  that  a  rudi¬ 
mentary  consciousness  of  initial  utilities  precedes  social 
relations.  Living  creatures  capable  of  recognizing  each 
other  are  capable  of  distinguishing  food  objects,  and  are 
therefore  capable  of  recognizing  initial  utilities.2 

With  marginal  utility  the  case  is  wholly  different.  In 
proof  of  this  assertion  it  is  necessary  first  to  expose  a 
fallacy  of  definition.  There  has  been  in  recent  economic 
writing  a  tendency  to  use  the  term  “  subjective  utility  ”  as 
if  it  meant  merely  pleasurable  feeling,  however  slight,  and 
nothing  whatever  in  addition  to  pleasure,  or  in  combina¬ 
tion  with  it.  If  this  usage  is  not  abandoned,  economists 
will  find  themselves  involved  in  hopeless  difficulties.  The 

1  Jevons  uses  the  word  “final.”  “  Marginal  ”  is  the  better  American 
usage. 

2  Cf.  “Utility,  Economics,  and  Sociology,”  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science ,  Vol.  V.,  No.  3,  November, 
1894  ;  cf.  also  Patten,  “The  Beginning  of  Utility,”  Annals  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.,  Vol.  V.,  No.  2,  September, 
1894. 


42 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


pleasure  element  in  subjective  utility  must  be  more  than 
infinitesimal.  It  must  be  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  have 
importance  for  consciousness,  and  to  admit  of  appreciable 
distinctions  of  more  or  less.  Besides,  pleasure  is  not  the 
only  element.  Subjective  utility  is  pleasurable  feeling 
combined  with  knowledge  that  the  pleasure  is  consequent 
upon  an  external  condition  or  thing,  namely,  an  objective 
utility.1  It  is  pleasure  attributed  to  an  external  cause. 
Unless  this  intellectual  factor  is  included,  the  whole  theory 
of  utility,  which  has  been  constructed  with  so  much  labour, 
falls  into  ruin,  for  the  theory  has  always  tacitly  assumed, 
as  its  minor  premise,  that  varying  states  of  feeling  are 
accompanied  by  some  measure  of  knowledge  of  the  quali¬ 
tative  or  quantitative  changes  in  external  conditions  to 
which  the  states  of  feeling  respond.  Initial  utility,  accord¬ 
ingly,  is  an  appreciable  pleasure  consciously  attributed  to 
an  external  cause,  and  marginal  utility  is  an  appreciable 
pleasure  consciously  attributed  to  a  final  or  marginal  activ¬ 
ity  of  an  external  cause.  In  addition  to  a  difference  be¬ 
tween  initial  and  final  feeling,  merely  as  feeling,  marginal 
utility  involves  a  perception  of  a  difference  between  an 
initial  and  a  marginal  action  of  the  same  cause. 

If  this  criticism  is  accepted,  the  question  about  marginal 
utility  and  social  evolution,  becomes  as  clear  as  the  ques¬ 
tion  about  the  precedence  of  initial  utility.  If  it  is  certain 
that  an  incipient  consciousness  of  initial  utility  is  antece¬ 
dent  to  association  it  is  not  less  certain  that  association 
is  antecedent  to  a  discrimination  of  marginal  from  initial 
causation,  and  therefore  to  a  consciousness  of  marginal 
utility.  Three  different  reasons  support  this  assertion. 
First,  merely  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  psychical  beginnings 
of  association  are  observed  in  the  lowest  known  forms  of 

1  For  the  technical  distinction  between  subjective  and  objective  utility, 
see  “The  Concepts  of  Utility,  Value,  and  Cost,”  read  at  the  Washington 
Meeting  of  the  American  Economic  Association,  in  December,  1890. 
Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association,  Vol.  VI.,  Nos. 
1  and  2,  January  and  March,  1891. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


43 


animal  life,1  while  perceptions  of  marginal  utility  are 
discovered  only  in  more  highly  developed  organisms. 
Second,  and  in  partial  explanation  of  these  facts  of  obser¬ 
vation,  we  know  that  association  multiplies  conscious 
experiences ;  if  it  has  played  the  part  in  mental  evolution 
that  is  attributed  to  it  in  the  present  volume,  it  has  been 
a  chief  agent  in  differentiating  and  increasing  pleasurable 
feeling,  and  in  developing  the  intelligence  that  per¬ 
ceives  the  relation  between  states  of  feeling  and  their 
objective  conditions.  Third,  and  in  further  explanation 
of  the  observed  facts,  the  survival  of  animal  life  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  depends  on  high  fertility,  or  on 
the  mutual  aid  inherent  in  association,  or  on  mental 
resources.  High  fertility  is  antagonistic  to  mental  evolu¬ 
tion  and  mental  evolution  is  at  the  expense  of  high 
fertility.2  It  was  association  that  ensured  survival  during 
the  transition  from  survival  by  a  physiological  process 
to  survival  by  a  psychological  process.  Without  associa¬ 
tion  conscious  life  could  never  have  arrived  at  that  stage 
of  development  in  which  a  perception  of  marginal  utili¬ 
ties  is  possible. 

Subjective  cost  is  a  mental  phenomenon  yet  more  com¬ 
plex  than  marginal  utility,  since  it  involves  the  perception 
of  a  double  set  of  relations,  namely,  first  those  constitut¬ 
ing  subjective  utility  itself,  and  second,  a  further  relation 
existing  between  subjective  utility  and  effort,  or  between 
subjective  utility  and  some  other  mode  of  pain. 

More  complex  yet  is  subjective  value.  Even  more  ab¬ 
surd  than  the  identification  of  subjective  utility  with 
mere  pleasure  has  been  the  identification  of  subjective 
value  with  pleasure. 

1  See  especially  Alfred  Binet,  “The  Psychic  Life  of  Micro-Organisms,” 
and  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  “  Introduction  to  Comparative  Psychology.” 

2  Spencer,  “The  Principles  of  Biology,”  Part  VI.,  and  Brownell, 
“The  Significance  of  a  Decreasing  Birth-Rate,”  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science ,  Vol.  V.,  No.  1,  July,  1894. 


44 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Only  the  briefest  account  of  the  subject  can  be  given 
here.1  When  a  variety  of  objective  utilities  has  been 
attained,  and  a  range  of  choice  is  thereby  presented  to 
each  individual  consciousness,  a  comparison  of  utilities 
with  one  another,  and  with  their  respective  costs,  is  made. 
Utilities  and  costs  are  pictured  in  imagination  before  they 
are  actually  experienced,  and  different  judgments  are 
formed  about  them.  The  effective  utilities,  in  particular, 
are  estimated.  By  these  are  meant  the  relative  capability 
of  like  kinds  and  quantities  of  commodity  to  afford  satis¬ 
faction  under  varying  conditions  of  want.  The  effective 
utility  of  a  ton  of  coal  is  not  the  same  in  July  as  in 
February.  For  comparative  estimates  of  effective  utilities 
we  use  the  term  “  valuations.”  Subjective  value  is  an  esti¬ 
mate  of  an  effective  utility  that  is  still  prospective.  It 
results  from  a  comparison  of  different  utilities  and  differ¬ 
ent  costs.  Obviously  these  mental  operations  are  not 
simple  and  they  are  not  performed  by  creatures,  if  such 
there  are,  that  can  be  said  to  owe  nothing  to  association. 
Subjective  value  appears  only  in  a  society. 

The  whole  conclusion,  therefore,  in  the  simplest  terms, 
is  that,  from  the  beginning,  pleasurable  and  painful  feel¬ 
ings  within  and  association  without  have  been  inseparably 
bound  together.  Initial  utility  is  antecedent  to  associa¬ 
tion,  but  association  is  antecedent  to  marginal  utility,  to 
subjective  cost,  and  to  subjective  value.  The  subjective 
interpretation  of  society  in  terms  of  these  latter  concep¬ 
tions  cannot  possibly  take  us  all  the  way  back  to  social 
foundations  in  analysis,  or  to  social  beginnings  in  time. 
Social  evolution  is  antecedent  to  all  refinements  of  utility. 
When,  in  the  course  of  social  evolution,  the  refinements 
appear,  they  enter  as  new  factors  into  the  process,  and 

1  For  the  technical  presentation  of  this  subject,  see  “The  Idea  and 
Definition  of  Value,”  read  before  the  American  Economic  Association 
at  Chautauqua,  August,  1892.  Publications  of  the  American  Economic 
Association ,  Vol.  VIII.,  No.  1,  January,  1893. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


45 


are  thenceforth  antecedent  to  many  of  the  higher  or  more 
complicated  social  developments.  These  latter,  there¬ 
fore,  but  these  only,  admit  of  the  subjective  interpretation 
in  terms  of  any  utilitarian  theory  that  goes  beyond  an 
account  of  the  merest  initial  utility. 

Returning  now  to  the  previous  question,  it  is  plain,  I 
think,  that  in  so  far  as  we  can  determine  the  matter  by 
an  examination  of  the  sequences  of  phenomena,  an  entire 
science  of  abstract  economics  cannot  be  regarded  as  prece¬ 
dent  to  sociology  as  a  whole. 

By  a  similar  argument,  it  could  be  shown  that  abstract 
ethics  does  not  precede  sociology  as  a  whole,  although 
portions  of  sociology  presuppose  ethical  theories.  Whether 
or  not  notions  of  right  and  wrong  begin  to  dawn  in  con¬ 
sciousness  before  any  social  relations  are  established, 
their  development  is  a  result  of  association. 

Even  if  such  relations  of  sequence  among  social,  eco¬ 
nomic,  and  ethical  phenomena  could  not  be  shown  in  detail, 
there  is  a  psychological  sequence  in  the  evolution  of  knowl¬ 
edge  which  cannot  be  ignored,  and  which  conclusively 
determines  the  relation  of  abstract  economics  and  abstract 
ethics  to  a  concrete  sociology.  The  abstract  sciences  have 
not  been  developed  in  an  intellectual  vacuum.  All  ab¬ 
stract  science  presupposes  concrete  science. 

That  this  perfectly  obvious  and  familiar  truth  has  been 
ignored  by  the  writers  who  have  put  economics  and  ethics 
before  sociology,  must  be  accounted  for  by  a  perplexing 
difficulty  which  it  seems  to  present.  If  all  abstract  prin¬ 
ciples  presuppose  the  descriptive  and  historical  matter  of 
concrete  science,  and  if  the  explanatory  parts  of  concrete 
science  presuppose  abstract  principles,  is  not  the  unity  of 
every  science  destroyed  ?  If  parts  of  economics  presup¬ 
pose  parts  of  sociology,  and  parts  of  sociology  presuppose 
parts  of  economics,  have  we  either  economics  or  soci- 
ology  ?  If  mathematical  principles  were  derived  from 


46 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


astronomy,  and  if  astronomy  now  presupposes  mathe¬ 
matics,  have  astronomy  and  mathematics  ever  been  sci¬ 
ences  at  all? 

Confusion  like  this  frequently  results  from  attempts  to 
state  complex  relations  as  if  they  were  severely  simple. 
That  is  what  has  been  done  in  the  classifications  of  the 
sciences. 

Comte’s  well-known  classification  arranges  all  the  sci¬ 
ences  in  a  serial  order.  Comte  believed  that  knowledge 
advances  from  the  general  to  the  special,  from  the  abstract 
to  the  concrete,  and  from  the  simple  to  the  complex.  Ac¬ 
cordingly,  he  put  mathematics  first  in  his  hierarchy,  and 
then,  in  the  order  named,  astronomy,  terrestrial  physics 
(including  chemistry),  biology  (including  physiological 
psychology),  and  sociology. 

Mr.  Spencer  demonstrated,  with  a  wealth  of  historical 
illustration,  that  no  merely  linear  arrangement  can  repre¬ 
sent  the  evolution  of  scientific  knowledge.1  The  newer 
sciences  are  continually  making  contributions  to  the  older 
ones.  New  knowledge  enlarges  all  knowledge,  and  this 
fact  is  not  less  true  of  the  relation  of  concrete  knowledge 
to  abstract  knowledge,  than  it  is  of  the  relation  of  concrete 
to  concrete,  or  of  abstract  to  abstract  knowledge.  The 
mind  moves  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract,  but  it  then 
applies  its  generalizations  to  the  further  interpretation  of 
concrete  phenomena. 

Mr.  Spencer  exposed  also  the  fallacy  that  lurks  in  the 
word  “general,”  which  betrayed  Comte  into  confounding 
the  general  with  the  abstract.  “  Abstractness  means 
detachment  from  the  incidents  of  particular  cases ;  gener¬ 
ality  means  manifestation  in  numerous  cases.”  2  It  will 
occur  to  the  reader  that  the  word  “  special,”  also,  has  more 

1  “  The  Classification  of  the  Sciences’’ ;  “  Recent  Discussions,”  p.  63  ; 
“Essays,”  Vol.  II.,  p.  74. 

2  “  The  Classification  of  the  Sciences,”  pp.  7,  8 ;  “  Recent  Discus¬ 
sions,”  pp.  66-70  ;  “  Essays,”  Yol.  II.,  pp.  78-81. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


47 


than  one  meaning.  The  special  may  be  the  particular 
case ;  it  may  be  the  unusual  or  the  exceptional,  or  it  may 
be  the  minute  or  the  detailed.  Obviously,  therefore,  when 
we  are  told  that  knowledge  advances  from  the  general  to 
the  special,  it  is  well  to  ask,  from  what  general  to  what 
special.  We  certainly  do  not  know  the  abstract  before  we 
know  the  concrete.  We  do  not  know  manifestation  in 
numerous  cases  before  we  know  the  manifestation  in  a 
particular  case.  Yet  we  do  know  the  usual  before  we 
know  the  unusual,  and  we  acquire  a  knowledge  of  outlines 
before  we  become  familiar  with  details. 

On  the  whole,  knowledge  does  advance  from  acquaint¬ 
ance  with  relatively  simple  phenomena  that  are  every¬ 
where  to  be  observed,  to  an  understanding  of  complicated 
phenomena  that  are  comparatively  infrequent.  But  in 
this  advance  concrete  description  and  abstract  formulation 
play  back  and  forth,  one  upon  the  other.  Therefore  we 
cannot  put  abstract  and  concrete  sciences  into  the  same 
series. 

Mr.  Spencer,  accordingly,  makes  one  distinct  group  of 
abstract  sciences,  a  second  group  of  abstract-concrete 
sciences,  and  a  third  group  of  concrete  sciences.  The 
abstract  sciences,  of  logic  and  mathematics,  are  accounts  of 
relations.  The  abstract-concrete  sciences,  of  molar  physics, 
molecular  physics,  and  chemistry,  are  accounts  of  prop¬ 
erties.  The  concrete  sciences,  of  astronomy,  geology, 
biology,  psychology,  and  sociology,  are  accounts  of  aggre¬ 
gates. 

The  unnecessary  and  confusing  part  of  this  classification 
is  the  abstract-concrete  group.  An  account  of  properties 
or  forces  is  as  truly  an  abstract  science  as  is  an  account  of 
relations.  In  all  science  we  must  do  one  of  two  things. 
We  may  fix  attention  on  an  actual  group  of  relations, 
properties,  and  forces,  together  constituting  a  perfectly 
concrete  aggregate,  and  try  to  understand  and  explain  it 
as  a  whole.  This  is  the  method  of  concrete  science.  Or 


48 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


we  may  fix  attention  on  a  relation,  a  property,  or  a  force, 
or  on  a  class  of  relations,  properties,  or  forces,  and  follow 
it  through  all  the  aggregates  in  which  it  is  found.  This 
is  the  method  of  abstract  science.  But  neither  method 
can  be  completely  carried  out  without  help  from  the  other. 
Abstraction  presupposes  concrete  knowledge,  but  the  ab¬ 
straction  when  attained  must  be  turned  back  upon  concrete 
knowledge  as  an  organizing  principle  before  we  can  per¬ 
fectly  understand  any  aggregate. 

It  is  therefore  more  accurate  to  class  a  science  as 
abstract  if  it  is  concerned  chiefly  with  relations,  properties, 
or  forces  and  only  incidentally  with  aggregates.  Molar 
and  molecular  physics  are  abstract  sciences.  A  science  is 
concrete  if  its  chief  aim  is  to  explain  aggregates  as  such, 
though  it  deals  also  with  properties  and  forces  and  uses 
the  methods  of  abstraction.  Chemistry  is  on  the  whole  a 
concrete  science.1 

Thus,  instead  of  one  linear  series  of  sciences  there  are 
two  distinct  orders  of  sciences,  so  related  to  each  other  as 
to  make  cross  classifications  in  every  part  of  the  intricate 
domain  of  knowledge.2 

Arranging  the  concrete  sciences  in  order  along  the 
line  oy,  and  the  abstract  sciences  along  the  line  ox, 
perpendicular  to  oy,  we  get  their  true  relations  as 
follows : 

1  The  concrete  sciences  are  synthetic  in  aim  though  they  may  and  do 
freely  employ  analytical,  that  is  inductive,  methods.  The  abstract  sci¬ 
ences  are  analytical  in  aim  though  they  may  and  do  employ  synthetic,  that 
is  deductive,  methods.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  a  science  is  “  analyt¬ 
ical,”  or  “synthetical,”  without  adding  “in  aim,”  or  “in  method.” 
The  two  things  are  not  the  same. 

2  Cf.  “  The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  other  Scientific  Studies,”  Journal 
of  Social  Science ,  November,  1894 ;  “  Sociology  and  the  Abstract 
Sciences,”  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science ,  Vol.  V.,  No.  5,  March,  1895;  and  “The  Relation  of  Sociology 
to  Economics,”  Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association, 
Vol.  X.,  No.  3,  Supplement,  March,  1895. 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


49 


The  concrete  or  y  sciences  are  descriptive,  historical, 
inductive.  The  abstract  or  x  sciences  are  hypothetical 
and  deductive.  The  concrete  become  explanatory  only 
because  they  are  traversed,  or  crossed,  by  the  abstract  sci¬ 
ences  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  so  far  as  they  get  beyond  mere 
description  and  history  they  do  so  by  appealing  to  the 
hypothetical  principles  of  the  “pure”  or  deductive  sci¬ 
ences.  On  the  other  hand,  the  abstract  sciences  are  not 
abstractions  from  nothing.  They  are  abstractions  from 
concrete  phenomena.  That  is  to  say,  they  presuppose  and 


E 


50 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


take  for  granted  the  descriptive  and  historical  matter  of 
the  concrete  sciences. 

Accordingly,  the  field  of  the  physical  sciences  is  opqr. 
On  their  descriptive  side  they  are  known  as  chemistry, 
astronomy,  geology,  and  biology,  according  to  their  concrete 
subject-matter.  On  their  explanatory  side  all  are  mathe¬ 
matical  and  physical.  The  fields  of  psychology  and  soci¬ 
ology  are  psut  and  svwu.  On  their  descriptive  side  they 
presuppose  the  concrete  physical  sciences.  On  their  ex¬ 
planatory  side  they  are  mathematical,  physical,  economi¬ 
cal,  and  ethical ;  every  one  of  the  abstract  sciences  con¬ 
tributes  principles  of  interpretation  to  concrete  psychology 
and  to  concrete  sociology. 

Historically,  too,  the  concrete  sciences  are  older  than  the 
abstract.  The  abstract  have  been  derived  from  the  con¬ 
crete,  ox  has  rotated  from  oy.  Thus,  mathematics  and 
physics  have  been  derived  by  abstraction  from  the  concrete 
natural  sciences.  Pure  economics  and  abstract  ethics  have 
been  derived  from  the  concrete  psychical  and  social  sci¬ 
ences  ;  economics,  for  example,  from  concrete  political 
economy.1 

If  the  foregoing  scheme  of  classification  is  scientific  it 
is  entirely  right  and  consistent  to  say  that  the  theories  of 
pure  economics  and  of  pure  ethics  presuppose  some  por¬ 
tions  of  descriptive  sociology,  while  the  explanatory  por¬ 
tions  of  sociology  assume  and  appeal  to  the  theories  of 
pure  economics  and  of  ideal  right.  Referring  to  the  fig¬ 
ure,  the  reader  will  observe  a  section  of  the  field  of  soci- 

1  It  will  be  observed  that  the  names  of  all  the  concrete  sciences  end  in  y , 
and  those  of  all  the  abstract  sciences  in  cs.  This  is  neither  a  result  of 
conscious  agreement,  nor  a  mere  accident.  It  is  a  consequence  of  those 
subtle  associations  of  ideas  that  so  often  influence  us  without  our  being 
aware  of  the  process  at  the  time.  Another  curious  fact,  to  which 
Professor  Hadley  has  called  my  attention,  is  that  in  names  which  have 
nearly  disappeared  from  use,  we  have  a  record  of  the  transition  stage  in 
which  the  differentiation  of  the  abstract  from  the  concrete  sciences  was 
taking  place.  Thus  physics  was  natural  philosophy  ;  biology  was  natural 
history  ;  economics  was  political  economy  ;  ethics  was  moral  philosophy 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


51 


ology  s'vW,  which  is  also  a  portion  of  the  field  of  pure 
economics.  From  the  concrete  studies  of  this  section  have 
been  derived  our  abstract  economic  theories.  Such  theo¬ 
ries  having  been  formulated,  we  can  go  on  to  the  profitable 
study  of  a  further  section  of  the  sociological  field,  namely, 
the  ethical,  u'w'w"u" .  In  this  field  there  are  two  sub¬ 
sciences  corresponding  respectively  to  subjective  and  to 
objective  studies.  The  subjective  study  is  ethics  proper. 
The  objective  study  is  the  analytical  jurisprudence  the 
foundations  of  which  were  laid  by  Austin.  Ultimately, 
no  doubt,  we  may  see  the  development  of  an  abstract 
politics,  or  pure  theory  of  social  forces,  in  the  field  u"w"wu.1 

Thus  by  its  own  unity  of  aim  and  method  clearly  dis¬ 
tinguished  from  these  abstract  sciences,  yet  traversing  them 
all  and  traversed  by  them ;  restricting  itself  to  inquiries 
more  general  and  more  fundamental  than  those  which 
constitute  the  special  social  sciences,  yet  projecting  and 
differentiating  itself  in  them ;  differentiated  from  psy¬ 
chology,  yet  carrying  principles  of  psychology  into  the 
interpretation  of  the  most  complicated  phenomena  that 
present  themselves  to  human  observation,  sociology  has 
a  province  as  definite  as  that  of  any  science,  and  yet  is  in 
perfect  continuity  with  every  science  in  the  indivisible 
whole  of  knowledge.  In  the  scientific  division  of  labour 
the  sociologist  has  a  distinct  work,  but  his  success  in  doing 
it  will  be  indifferent  unless  he  maintains  an  intelligent 
cooperation  with  fellow-workers  in  other  fields,  and  unless 
they  keep  touch  with  him. 

1  Since  this  page  was  written  Professor  Patten  has  published  “  The 
Theory  of  Social  Forces.” 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  definite  limitation  of  its  field  having  been  recog¬ 
nized  as  one  necessary  measure  towards  making  sociology 
a  workable  science,  attention  must  next  be  given  to  its 
methods  of  investigation.  The  field  that  has  been  marked 
out  is  one  in  which  a  plurality  of  causes  has  full  play. 
The  general  phenomena  of  society  which  the  sociologist 
has  to  classify  and  explain  have  been  described  as  ele¬ 
mentary,  but,  like  many  of  the  elementary  phenomena  of 
matter,  they  are  not  to  be  analyzed  and  understood  with¬ 
out  the  aid  of  the  most  effectual  methods  that  science  has 
at  her  command. 

In  explaining  the  purpose  of  sociology  and  in  defining 
its  province,  it  has  already  been  necessary  to  speak  of  its 
methods,  because  validity  of  method  is  essential  to  the 
constitution  of  a  would-be  science,  and  because  methods, 
no  less  than  subject-matter,  differentiate  the  sciences  from 
one  another.  Such  incidental  discussion,  however,  is  not 
sufficient.  The  subject  has  received  by  no  means  the 
treatment  that  its  preeminent  importance  demands.  Be¬ 
fore  sociology  can  be  freed  from  those  injurious  misconcep¬ 
tions  of  its  character  that  have  hindered  its  development 
hitherto,  its  methods  must  be  critically  reconsidered  and 
must,  if  possible,  be  formulated  in  some  systematic  way. 

Mill’s  chapters  on  the  logic  of  the  moral  sciences1  will 
remain  the  solid  foundation  of  sociological  method,  but 
there  is  reason  to  fear  that  they  have  not  been  mastered 
1  “A  System  of  Logic,”  Book  VI. 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


53 


by  all  sociological  theorists,  and  late  developments  of 
scientific  thought  have  made  some  slight  additions  neces¬ 
sary.1  We  must  therefore  look  at  the  methods  of  soci¬ 
ology  from  two  points  of  view :  first,  from  that  of  their 
validity  and  proper  use  as  means  of  discovery  and  explana¬ 
tion  ;  second,  from  that  of  their  agreement  or  disagreement 
with  the  conditions  and  the  habits  that  now  prevail  in 
scientific  and  in  educational  work. 

In  describing  sociology  as  a  concrete  science,  descriptive, 
historical,  and  explanatory,  I  have  in  a  general  way  charac¬ 
terized  its  method.  A  concrete  science  uses  all  methods ; 
observation  and  retrospection,  classification  and  generali¬ 
zation,  induction  and  deduction.  Neglect  of  any  is  a 
destruction  of  certitude  that  makes  the  most  diligent 
employment  of  the  others  a  waste  of  effort.  The  weari¬ 
some  contention  that  has  been  going  on  for  a  generation 
over  the  relative  values  of  historical  and  a  priori  methods 
in  the  social  sciences  deserves  to  be  included  in  Hood’s 
list  of  the  negations  that  would  make  up  a  world  in  which 
there  should  be  “  no  other  side  the  way.”  History  without 
deductive  illumination  is  chaos.  Deduction  without  veri¬ 
fication  is  undoubtedly  the  very  “  light  that  never  was,  on 
sea  or  land.” 

Nevertheless,  when  a  combination  of  methods  is  em¬ 
ployed  in  any  science,  some  one  method  will  attain  pre¬ 
eminence,  and  some  general  order  of  precedence  will  be 
found  to  be  more  suitable  than  another,  and  will  be  itself 
an  important  part  of  the  whole  method  of  the  science. 
Either  it  will  be  more  profitable  to  proceed  as  a  rule  by 
direct  deduction  and  then  to  seek  for  the  verification  from 
specific  experience,  or  it  will  be  more  advantageous  to 
proceed  as  a  rule  by  generalization  from  observed  facts, 
and  then  to  verify  by  deduction  from  a  principle  and  by 
the  further  agreement  with  experience.  Either  of  these 

1  Cf.  Schiattarella,  “Note  e  problemi  di  filosofia  contemporanea,” 
essay  on  “La  riforma  del  metodo  in  sociologia.” 


54 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


combinations  is  what  Mill  calls  the  deductive  form  of  the 
inductive  method,  or  what  Jevons  calls  the  complete 
method  of  a  true  science. 

Experience  has  fully  demonstrated  that  deduction 
confirmed  by  observation,  or  the  direct  deductive  method, 
is  the  legitimate  general  order  in  the  abstract  sciences, 
and  that  generalization  interpreted  by  deduction,  or  the 
indirect  deductive  method  of  Mill’s  nomenclature,  is  the 
feasible  and  fruitful  general  order  in  the  concrete  sciences. 
As  a  concrete  science,  therefore,  sociology,  like  biology 
and  psychology,  must  usually  begin  its  investigations  with 
observation  and  must  conclude  them  with  deductive  con¬ 
firmation  and  interpretation.  In  its  results,  description 
and  history  will  keep  well  in  advance  of  explanation. 

There  could  be  no  worse  mistake,  however,  than  to 
construe  this  broad  rule  with  a  narrow  precision.  The 
only  strict  rule  is  that  in  every  investigation  in  any 
science  whatsoever  the  deduction  and  the  appeal  to  experi¬ 
ence  must  be  combined,  in  the  one  order  or  in  the  other. 
Beyond  observance  of  this  principle,  and  a  due  regard  to 
the  order  that  is  most  advantageous  on  the  whole,  there 
is  no  requirement,  and  variability  of  plan  is  essential. 
At  any  given  step  it  may  be  easier  to  proceed  by  indirect 
deduction  in  an  abstract  science  or  by  direct  deduction 
in  a  concrete  science ;  in  either  we  may  reason  now  from 
cause  to  effect,  now  from  effect  to  cause.1  Moreover, 
each  process  itself,  when  analyzed,  is  found  to  involve  the 
other.  Not  only  have  we  no  need  to  exclude  deduction 
from  the  preliminary  processes  of  observation,  or  to  exclude 
observation  from  the  final  interpretation,  but  we  could 
not  so  exclude  if  we  would.  Even  in  the  every-day  affairs 

1  Professor  Patten’s  able  discussion  of  methods  in  his  paper  on  “  The 
Failure  of  Biologic  Sociology,”  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of 
Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  IV.,  No.  6,  May,  1894,  does  not  suffi¬ 
ciently  recognize,  I  think,  the  exceeding  complexity  of  the  methods  of 
concrete  science.  The  biologist  does  not  always  reason  from  effect  to 
cause,  neither  does  the  historian. 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


55 


of  life  we  habitually  guide  observation  by  simple  deduc¬ 
tions  from  familiar  principles.  In  the  more  skilful  use  of 
such  deductions  by  the  man  of  scientific  training  is  the 
whole  difference  between  his  systematic  observation  and 
the  haphazard  observation  of  the  blunderer.  Reversing 
the  process,  the  abstract  thinker  finds  his  way  through 
labyrinths  of  deductive  reasoning  by  means  of  hints  that 
crowd  upon  his  mind  through  observation.  He  cannot 
cut  himself  off  entirely  from  the  world  of  perception,  and 
the  great  difference  between  the  clear,  penetrating  mind 
that  “  thinks  straight  ”  and  the  fantastic  mind  of  the 
visionary  is  one  of  sensitiveness  to  the  guidance  of  ob¬ 
servation.  Our  general  rule  of  sociological  method, 
therefore,  can  mean  no  more  than  this,  that  on  the  whole 
those  investigations  in  which  deduction  plays  the  less 
important  part  should  precede  those  in  which  it  plays  the 
more  important  part. 

This  rule  will  not  only  keep  description  and  history 
in  advance  of  explanation,  it  will  also  keep  description 
in  advance  of  history,  —  the  study  of  the  coexistences  in 
social  phenomena  in  advance  of  the  study  of  the  sequences. 
Retrospection,  the  method  of  history,  is  a  more  complex 
process  than  observation,  the  method  of  description.  It 
presupposes  observation  and  makes  a  freer  use  of  deduction. 
It  may  be  described  as  a  critical  imagination  of  things 
vanished,  which  is  based  upon  a  systematic  observation  of 
those  signs,1  marks,  or  effects  of  former  things,  that  have 
endured  into  present  time.  It  involves  three  processes, 
none  of  which  is  simple.  First,  there  must  be  the  critical 
observation  of  the  existing  signs  or  effects.  Second,  there 
must  be  an  extensive  observation  of  phenomena  in  which 
similar  signs  or  effects  are  now  associated  with  existing 
things  or  with  causes  still  in  operation.  Third,  there 

1  The  word  “  signs  ”  is  used  here  with  the  broadest  meaning,  and  should 
be  understood  to  cover  documentary  records,  as  well  as  paleontological 
and  archaeological  remains. 


56 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


must  be  a  valid  inference  that  such  signs  and  such  things 
signified  such  effects  and  such  causes  were  associated  in 
exactly  similar  ways  in  times  past.  Historians  have  seldom 
analyzed  their  methods.  Few  of  them,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
have  seen  that  retrospection  is  a  method  with  distinctive 
canons.  Even  the  modern  study  of  historical  criticism 
has  hardly  gone  beyond  an  examination  of  the  first  stage 
of  research,  that,  namely,  of  the  critical  observation  of 
existing  signs  or  effects  of  former  things.  Little  atten¬ 
tion  has  been  given  to  the  reasoning  processes  that  must 
supplement  all  such  preliminary  work. 

Does  the  general  rule  of  method  in  sociology  suggest 
for  the  strictly  theoretical  division  of  the  science  also, 
an  order  of  procedure  corresponding  to  the  expedient 
order  in  the  descriptive  and  historical  parts  ?  Is  it  neces¬ 
sary  or  expedient  to  explain  the  coexistences  in  social 
phenomena  before  we  try  to  explain  the  sequences,  as 
it  is  to  keep  description  in  advance  of  history  ?  An 
affirmative  answer  seems  to  be  given  by  the  traditional 
division  of  sociology  into  social  statics  and  social  dynam¬ 
ics.  But  Comte,  as  we  have  seen,  used  these  terms 
loosely.  His  social  statics  was  little  more  than  descrip¬ 
tion  ;  his  social  dynamics  little  more  than  history.  Not 
having  made  any  systematic  attempt  to  separate  the 
analysis  of  social  causes  from  the  description  and  the 
history  of  effects,  he  naturally  accomplished  little  in 
the  study  of  the  causes.  If,  then,  sound  method  prescribes 
acquaintance  with  concrete  effects  before  we  attempt  the 
abstract  analysis  of  causes,  our  present  question  is  not 
the  one  already  answered,  namely,  whether  we  should 
describe  the  existing  activities  and  relations  in  society 
before  we  try  to  determine  in  what  concrete  order  social 
changes  have  followed  one  another  in  the  past ;  it  is  the 
question  whether  we  must  formulate  the  abstract  laws 
of  equilibrium  among  social  forces  before  we  undertake 
to  formulate  the  abstract  laws  according  to  which  given 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


57 


compositions  of  social  forces  of  given  magnitudes  must 
necessarily  produce  given  social  changes  and  rates  of 
change. 

The  statement  of  this  question  is  enough  to  show  how 
absurdly  the  terms  “  social  statics  ”  and  “social  dynamics  ” 
have  been  used  by  those  who  have  confounded  social 
statics  with  a  mere  descriptive  analysis  of  social  order, 
and  social  dynamics  with  a  mere  history  of  progress. 
Technical  physical  terms  have  no  rational  meaning  in 
sociology  except  in  connection  with  the  physical  inter¬ 
pretation  of  social  causation. 

But  even  as  thus  restricted  the  terms  now  under  con¬ 
sideration  are  used  in  ways  that  reveal  profound  miscon¬ 
ceptions.  One  of  the  most  subtle  and  misleading  errors, 
that  of  confounding  social  statics  with  an  account  cff 
social  structure,  and  social  dynamics  with  an  account 
of  social  function,  has  been  effectively  exposed  by  Mr. 
Ward.1  Functions  are  normally  in  equilibrium;  and 
function,  as  long  as  it  undergoes  no  change,  is  a  statical 
phenomenon.  In  fact,  it  is  the  equilibrium  of  functions 
that  maintains  stability  of  structure.  Only  when  function 
is  modified  and  structure  is  transformed  have  we  non- 
statical  phenomena  in  the  organic  world  or  in  society.  In 
biology  both  anatomy  and  physiology  are  statical  studies 
so  long  as  they  investigate  structures  and  functions  as 
unchanging.  They  go  beyond  statics  only  when  they 
take  up  the  phenomena  of  variation  and  transformation. 

This  criticism  brings  us  naturally  to  another.  The 
further  use  of  “  dynamics,”  in  a  sense  that  has  been  aban¬ 
doned  in  physics,  is  without  excuse.  Why  do  we  so 
naturally  conceive  of  function  as  a  dynamic  phenomenon  ? 
Because,  in  truth,  it  is  dynamic,  though  it  is  also  static, 
and  is  not  kinetic.  We  know  force  only  through  motion, 
or  resistance  to  motion.  We  know  laws  of  equilibrium 

1  “  Static  and  Dynamic  Sociology,”  Political  Science  Quarterly , 
Vol.  X.,  No.  2,  June,  1895. 


58 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


only  through  laws  of  motion.  The  whole  study  of  forces, 
therefore,  whether  they  are  conceived  as  in  equilibrium  or 
as  producing  motion,  is  in  the  last  analysis  a  study  of 
motion.  It  is  all,  therefore,  a  dynamics  —  not  less  in 
the  secondary  than  in  the  primary  meaning  of  the  word. 
Dynamics  is  coextensive  with  physics,  and  is  not  a 
division  of  it.  It  includes  all  studies  of  motion  and  of 
resistance.  Statics  is  a  division  of  dynamics  and  is  not 
coordinate  with  it.  It  includes  all  studies  of  motions 
and  resistances  that  do  not  change  in  rate  or  in  direction, 
and  all  studies  therefore  of  function  and  structure  con¬ 
ceived  as  unchanging.  The  other  division  of  dynamics 
is  kinetics.  It  includes  all  studies  of  motions  that  change 
in  rate  or  in  direction,  or  in  both,  and  all  studies,  there¬ 
fore,  of  modifications,  variations,  and  transmutations  of 
function  and  of  structure.  If,  then,  we  must  have  two 
divisions  of  social  physics,  we  should  designate  them  by 
terms  that  have  some  justification  in  sense  and  usage. 
W e  should  not  say  “  social  dynamics  ”  when  we  mean 
social  kinetics.1 

But  do  we  need  so  to  divide  the  subject  ?  Let 
us  look  a  little  further  into  it.  Kinetics  includes  three 
classes  of  problems.  In  one  class  we  study  the  changing 
motion  of  a  particle.  In  another  class  we  study  the  chang¬ 
ing  motion  of  a  rigid  body.  In  the  third  class  we  study 
the  changing  motions  of  a  variable  system  of  n  particles 

1  The  discrimination  is  not  merely  formal  and  pedantic.  Failure  to 
make  it  will  betray  the  most  cautious  thinker  into  serious  error.  Thus 
Mr.  Ward,  in  the  article  referred  to  above,  having  shown  with  beautiful 
clearness  that  function  is  a  static  phenomenon,  immediately  throws  his 
whole  argument  into  confusion  by  setting  feeling  over  against  function, 
not  only  in  the  sense  in  which  the  subjective  is  opposed  to  the  objective, 
but  in  a  very  different  sense,  by  identifying  feeling  exclusively  with  what 
he  calls  dynamic,  in  distinction  from  what  we  all  agree  in  calling  static, 
phenomena.  Now  feeling  is  unquestionably  dynamic  :  it  is  power.  But 
it  may  have  either  static  or  kinetic  manifestations.  It  is  the  motive  power 
in  normal  social  function,  no  less  than  in  the  transforming  movements 
of  revolution  and  reform. 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


59 


or  bodies  that  are  subject  to  the  action  of  both  internal 
and  external  forces.  The  solar  system,  for  example,  is  a 
variable  system,  in  which  the  mutual  attractions  of  sun, 
planets,  and  satellites  are  the  internal  forces,  and  upon 
which  the  attractions  of  the  fixed  stars  act  as  external 
forces.1  Obviously  the  kinetic  problems  of  this  class  are 
the  most  complex  that  can  be  conceived. 

A  variable  system  in  which  the  internal  forces  remain 
in  approximate  equilibrium,  but  upon  which  external 
forces  act  so  as  to  prevent  the  internal  equilibrium  from 
becoming  perfect,  is  called  a  moving  equilibrium.  All 
aggregates  of  matter  that  are  undergoing  evolution,  as 
Mr.  Spencer  has  demonstrated,  are  moving  equilibria.2 
The  most  complex  examples  are  found  in  living  organ¬ 
isms  and  in  societies.  The  physical  interpretation  of  an 
organism  or  of  a  society  is  the  solution  of  a  problem  in 
the  static-kinetics  of  a  variable  system. 

When  all  the  implications  of  this  rather  formidable 
truth  are  seen  it  will  be  apparent  that  we  have  a  mixed 
answer  to  our  question. 

The  impossibility  of  handling  the  more  complicated 
problems  of  dynamics  before  their  elements  have  been 
mastered  compels  the  investigator  to  study  many  cases 
of  unchanging  motion  before  he  attempts  to  explain  the 
cases  of  changing  motion.  The  statical  principles  of  any 
concrete  science,  of  astronomy  or  geology,  of  biology  or 
sociology,  are  always  developed  in  advance  of  its  kinetic 
principles,  as  description  is  developed  in  advance  of  his¬ 
tory.  It  was  not  accidental  that  the  static  biology  of 
Cuvier  preceded  the  kinetic  biology  of  Lamarck'  and 
Darwin. 

But  certainly  it  is  not  necessary  on  this  account  to 
group  all  the  statical  investigations  of  an  evolutional 
science  systematically  by  themselves,  to  follow  them  out 

1  Ziwet,  “Theoretical  Mechanics,”  Part  III.,  p.  210. 

8  “  First  Principles,”  Part  II. 


60 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


with  systematic  completeness  before  we  take  up  any  of 
the  kinetic  problems,  and  then,  in  like  manner,  to  group 
together  all  the  kinetic  investigations,  so  leaving  the 
theory  of  the  subject,  in  its  final  form,  sharply  divided 
into  two  parts.  To  do  that  would  be  to  relinquish  all 
hope  of  solving  the  most  characteristic  problems  of  the 
science  ;  problems  that  are  not  static  merely,  or  kinetic 
merely,  but  that  are  static-kinetic.  It  would  be  to  stop 
short  of  any  real  attempt  to  explain  the  one  equilibrium 
that  we  most  desire  to  understand,  because  it  is  the  final 
resultant  of  all  forces,  that,  namely,  between  the  static 
tendencies  on  the  one  hand  and  the  kinetic  tendencies  on 
the  other  hand.  For  convenience,  or  of  necessity,  we  may 
at  any  stage  of  investigation  separate  the  static  from  the 
kinetic  inquiry.  But  such  a  separation  is  only  a  means  to 
an  end.  The  end  in  view  is  the  synthesis  of  static  and 
kinetic  principles.  Until  that  synthesis  is  achieved  the 
dynamic  theory  of  any  concrete  science  of  evolutionary 
phenomena  is  incomplete. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  therefore,  seems  to 
be  that  while  investigations  of  the  static  phenomena  of 
society  must,  to  some  extent,  precede  studies  of  the  ki¬ 
netic  phenomena,  somewhat  as  observation  must  go  before 
retrospection,  sociological  theory  in  its  final  form  cannot 
be  divided  into  social  statics  and  social  kinetics. 

Such  being  the  rules  that  should  govern  the  partition 
and  the  order  of  research  in  sociology,  there  remain  to  be 
examined  certain  rules  that  should  govern  the  various 
processes  of  investigation.  It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell 
further  on  observation  and  retrospection,1  but  critical 
attention  must  be  given  to  the  methods  of  classification, 
of  generalization,  and  of  deduction. 

Much  laborious  work  in  sociology  has  been  unfruitful 

1  Excellent  suggestions  on  the  scientific  observation  of  social  facts 
will  be  found  in  Durkheim’s  “  Les  regies  de  la  mfethode  sociologique.  ” 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


61 


because  of  mistaken  classifications,  which  have  repeated 
errors  that  were  made  in  natural  history  before  the  doc¬ 
trine  of  descent  with  variation  had  corrected  the  earlier 
conceptions  of  natural  groups.  Though  that  doctrine  has 
become  a  vital  part  of  scientific  thought,  nearly  all  socio¬ 
logical  classifications  at  some  point  ignore  the  principle 
of  development.  Two  different  forms  of  this  error  may 
be  noticed. 

Many  social  habits  are  common  to  animals  and  to  men. 
Many  customs,  laws,  and  institutions  are  common  to  savage 
tribes  and  to  civil  communities.  Some  sociological  cate¬ 
gories  must  be  broad  enough  to  include  the  cannibal  and 
the  diner  out.  Some  must  be  broad  enough  to  include  the 
wise  man  and  the  ant.  Yet  it  is  notorious  that  philology 
and  ethnology  have  had  to  contend  for  years  against  the 
fatal  facility  with  which  generalizations  are  made  from  too 
inclusive  classifications.  Historical  political  economy  has 
been  a  protest  against  classifications  that  have  merged  the 
manor  in  the  market,  —  the  rent  customary  in  the  rent 
Ricardian.  Historical  jurisprudence  has  rendered  its  great 
service  to  scholarship  through  its  criticism  of  groupings 
like  that  which  confounded  the  legal  liability  of  the 
Englishman  or  of  the  American,  which  is  grounded  in 
social  utility,  with  the  legal  liability  of  the  Saxon  or  of  the 
early  Roman,  which  was  grounded  in  simple  devices  to 
modify  the  direct  modes  of  vengeance.1  In  all  such  illegit¬ 
imate  groupings  the  error  consists  in  a  failure  to  separate 
those  characteristics  of  a  phenomenon  that  appear  only  at 
a  certain  stage  of  evolution  from  characteristics  that  are 
found  at  all  stages.  Liability,  for  example,  is  found  in  all 
communities,  and  all  modes  of  liability  may  be  put  into 
one  class  for  comparison  with  phenomena  equally  general ; 
but  the  earlier  and  the  later  liability  must  not  be  merged 
for  comparison  with  phenomena  that  appear  only  with 
liability  in  its  later  forms.  The  family,  in  a  certain  sense 
1  See  Holmes,  “  The  Common  Law,”  Chap.  I. 


62 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  the  word,  is  found  in  animal  as  in  human  societies. 
Animal  and  human  families  in  one  class  may  be  compared 
with  other  phenomena  that  are  common  to  animal  and 
human  communities.  If,  however,  family  organization  is 
compared  with  phenomena  that  did  not  appear  until  after 
family  relationships  had  been  reflected  upon,  and  had  been 
instituted  and  sanctioned  by  the  social  mind,  human  fami¬ 
lies  must  be  classed  apart.  The  clan  is  found  in  tribal 
societies  that  trace  descent  through  mother  names,  and  in 
a  modified  form  it  persists  in  societies  that  have  begun  to 
trace  descent  through  father  names.  In  studying  the  uni¬ 
versal  phases  of  tribal  organization,  both  types  of  the  clan 
may  be  put  into  one  class  ;  in  studying  certain  special 
phases  that  are  of  late  origin,  the  clan  that  is  associated 
with  relationships  through  women  must  be  excluded. 

The  second  form  in  which  the  characteristic  error  of  so¬ 
ciological  classifications  appears  is  that  of  the  overworked 
biological  analogy.  Mr.  Spencer’s  essay  on  “  The  Social 
Organism  ” 1  made  a  lasting  impression.  At  present  the 
greater  part  of  sociological  literature  is  written  in  terms  of 
a  biological  nomenclature.  In  Mr.  Spencer’s  own  atlases 
of  “Descriptive  Sociology”  the  largest  and  most  systematic 
collection  of  sociological  material  that  has  been  made  is 
arranged  under  the  heads  “structural”  and  “functional,” 
and  is  sub-grouped  as  “  operative  ”  and  “  regulative.”  The 
example  has  been  influential.  All  the  classifications  in 
Dr.  Schaffle’s  voluminous  treatise  are  biological  in  name 
and  in  idea.  In  works  of  less  importance  such  terms  as 
“social  anatomy,”  “social  physiology,”  and  “social  or¬ 
gans  ”  are  constantly  met  with. 

Sociology  will  have  to  discard  this  classification  and 
nomenclature  as  chemistry  and  physiology  had  to  discard 
impossible  groupings  and  terminologies  a  generation  ago. 
The  analysis  is  too  general.  In  certain  fundamental  things 
social  organization  is  like  vital  organization,  but  in  all 

1  Westminster  Review ,  New  Series,  Yol.  XVII.,  January,  1860. 


THE  METHODS  OE  SOCIOLOGY 


63 


that  justifies  Mr.  Spencer’s  own  phrase  of  “  super-organic 
evolution  ”  it  is  peculiar,  and  not  to  be  classed  with  organ¬ 
isms.  Were  this  not  true,  sociology  would  be  a  mere  divi¬ 
sion  of  biology.  Every  distinct  science  must  have  its  owi; 
classifications  and  its  own  names  for  phenomena  which 
however  they  resemble  the  phenomena  studied  by  other 
sciences,  are  yet  different,  and  are  the  subject  matter  of  a 
separate  science  only  because  they  are  different. 

The  errors  of  classification  that  spring  from  a  neglect  of 
development  can  be  avoided  in  sociology,  as  they  are  in 
biology,  by  attention  to  a  single  distinguishing  mark  of 
evolution,  namely,  differentiation.  Differentiation  is  the 
reconciling  phase  between  those  two  aspects  of  natural 
groups  that  Whewell  called  respectively  “  type  ”  and 
“definition.”  Whewell’s  account  of  types  and  Mill’s  ac¬ 
count  of  kinds  were  foreshadowings  of  that  complete  view 
of  nature  which  Mr.  Spencer  was  the  first  to  attain,  in  his 
conception  of  a  universal  evolution  through  integration 
and  differentiation.  That  is  a  true  class  in  which  objects 
or  individuals  are  grouped  by  some  characteristic  that 
normal  differentiation  has  produced.  Unless  this  genetic 
test  is  applied,  temporary  or  adventitious  relations  of  phe¬ 
nomena  are  constantly  mistaken  for  permanent  and  essen¬ 
tial  relations.  It  affords  also  the  only  sure  guidance  in 
classifications  by  series.  The  chronological  sequences  of 
history  may  be  obscure,  the  “  higher  ”  and  the  “  lower  ”  in 
the  scale  of  life  may  be  uncertain  as  long  as  structures  and 
functions  are  compared  without  any  reference  to  genetic  rela¬ 
tionships,  but  if  degrees  of  differentiation  can  be  ascertained, 
the  natural  order  of  subordination  in  the  series  is  revealed. 
Only  by  consistently  following  the  rule  that  classification 
should  be  by  degree  of  differentiation  can  the  investigator 
in  sociology  hope  to  distinguish  primary  from  secondary 
characteristics,  or  to  mark  off  the  general  from  the  special. 
If  he  wishes,  for  example,  to  divide  a  population  into 
social  classes,  or  if  he  wishes  to  group  societies  by  types, 


64 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


he  will  succeed  only  if  he  fixes  his  attention  upon  the 
marks  and  the  processes  of  social  differentiation. 

Empirical  generalizations  in  sociology  may  be  made  by 
two  methods,  namely,  the  comparative  and  the  historical. 
Both  are  forms  of  what  is  known  in  logic  as  the  method 
of  concomitant  variations.  Each  is  a  systematic  observa¬ 
tion  of  coherences  among  phenomena,  combined  with  an 
inference  that  phenomena  that  persist  together,  or  that 
change  together,  are  cause  and  effect,  or  are  effects 
of  a  common  cause.  The  comparative  method  is  an  ob¬ 
servation  of  identical  coherences  of  social  phenomena  in 
two  or  more  places,  or  in  two  or  more  populations ;  for 
example,  the  coherence  of  ancestor  worship  with  paternal 
authority,  wherever  ancestor  worship  is  found,  or  the  co¬ 
herence  of  polygamy  with  the  social  inferiority  of  women, 
wherever  polygamy  is  found.  The  historical  method  is 
an  observation  of  coherences  through  periods  of  time. 
The  comparative  and  the  historical  methods  may  become 
precise  when  they  can  become  statistical.  Statistical  in¬ 
vestigation  is  a  systematic  observation  of  coherences  among 
social  phenomena  that  admit  of  numerical  statement;1 
the  coherences,  for  example,  of  marriage  rates  with  the 
prices  of  bread,  or  of  emigration  from  Europe  with  busi¬ 
ness  prosperity  in  the  United  States.  As  all  coherences 
are  distributed  in  space  or  in  time,  the  statistical  method 
cannot  be  regarded  as  a  third  distinct  form  of  the  method 
of  concomitant  variations.  It  is  but  a  quantitative  form 
of  the  comparative  and  the  historical  methods. 

The  validity  of  any  method  of  empirical  generalization 
in  sociology  depends  on  the  number  of  the  facts  that  can 
be  compared,  and  on  the  legitimacy  of  a  preliminary 
elimination  of  possibly  cooperating  causes.  When,  for 
instance,  Mill  demonstrated  that  neither  by  the  method 
of  agreement,  nor  by  the  method  of  difference,  nor  even 

1  Cf.  Mayo-Smith,  “  Statistics  and  Sociology,”  p.  9. 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


65 


by  the  method  of  variations,  could  it  be  proved  that  free 
trade  is  a  controlling  cause  of  prosperity,  he  imagined  a 
comparison  made  between  only  two  countries  alike  in  no 
circumstance,  or  different  in  no  circumstance,  or  varying 
together  in  no  circumstance  but  commercial  policy.1  This 
hypothetical  case  is  not  fairly  typical,  however,  of  com¬ 
parative  or  of  historical  studies.  It  fails  absolutely  to 
represent  statistical  studies.  Prosperity  is  the  effect  of  a 
bewildering  plurality  of  causes,  but  among  them  not  half 
a  dozen  are  commensurate  with  any  great,  sudden,  or  long- 
continued  increase  of  material  well-being.  All  others 
may  be  eliminated  at  the  outset.  Then,  if  it  is  found 
that  in  scores  of  instances  quantitative  variations  in  some 
one  of  the  supposed  causes  cohere  with  variations  in  pros¬ 
perity,  while  variations  in  the  remaining  causes  cohere 
but  infrequently  with  the  same  variations  in  prosperity, 
there  is  a  strong  presumption  that  the  chief  cause  has 
been  discovered.  The  degree  of  probability  may  be  ascer¬ 
tained  by  comparing  the  number  of  coherences  found  with 
the  number  to  be  expected  according  to  the  logic  of  chance. 

Empirical  generalizations,  however,  even  when  made  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  most  cautious  statistical  methods,  and  from 
abundant  statistical  data,  are  only  probabilities.  They 
must  be  verified  by  deduction,  and  among  the  methods  of 
sociology  that  are  yet  imperfect  are  those  by  which  de¬ 
ductions  from  subjective  premises  are  compared  with 
generalizations  from  observed  facts. 

For  years  a  radically  unscientific  procedure  has  been 
followed  in  the  social  sciences.  After  resolving  human 
nature  into  abstractions,  the  attempt  has  been  made  to 
verify,  singly  and  severally ,  all  manner  of  deductions  there¬ 
from  by  a  direct  comparison  with  statistics  and  history,  as 
if  these  concretes  could  correspond  to  deductive  truths 
until  the  latter  had  been  combined  in  complex  wholes. 

1  “  A  System  of  Logic,”  Book  VI.,  Chap.  VII. 


66 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Of  a  score  of  illustrations  that  might  be  cited,  we  may 
take  the  once  familiar  economic  dogma,  that  if  a  labourer 
does  not  pursue  his  interest,  his  interest  will  none  the 
less  pursue  him,  against  which  President  Walker  effec¬ 
tively  marshalled  the  facts  of  industrial  life.1  As  a  single 
abstract  truth,  that  mischievous  dogma  was  a  valid  scien¬ 
tific  conclusion.  It  is  legitimate  to  separate  an  abstract 
principle  of  human  nature  from  all  other  abstract  princi¬ 
ples  and  to  draw  logical  deductions  from  it.  The  fallacy 
entered  when  the  single  truth  was  taken  for  a  synthesis  of 
truths ;  when  the  part  was  made  to  do  duty  for  the  whole. 
If  besides  the  premise  that  a  man  may  be  conceived  ab¬ 
stractly  as  a  competitor  with  his  fellow-man  for  economic 
advantage,  economists  had  made  use  of  the  further  premise 
that  he  may  also  be  conceived  abstractly  as  an  instinctive 
combiner  with  his  fellow-man  for  maintaining  class  power 
and  privilege,  they  would  have  drawn  not  only  the  deduc¬ 
tion  that  employers  will  compete  with  one  another  in  build¬ 
ing  up  industries,  but  the  further  deduction  that,  as  far  as 
possible,  they  will  refrain  from  competing  with  one  another 
in  buying  labour,  and  will  never  fail  to  stand  together  in 
shaping  the  social  and  the  legal  conditions  under  which 
labourers  must  sell  their  work.  The  two  deductions  put 
together  would  have  made  a  resultant  truth  not  unlike 
the  generalizations  of  history  and  statistics. 

The  deductive  process  in  sociology  must  therefore 
be  developed  into  a  constructive  method  which  may  be 
called  the  method  of  psychological  synthesis.2  The  soci¬ 
ologist  must  train  himself  to  habits  of  constant  attention 
to  the  psychical  possibilities  of  the  great  world  of  human 
struggle.  He  must  be  ever  on  the  watch  for  neglected 
or  unperceived  factors  in  human  action,  as  the  chemist  is 
for  unknown  elements.  Using  the  faculty  of  scientific 

1  “  The  Wages  Question.” 

2  “  Sociology  as  a  University  Study,”  Political  Science  Quarterly , 
Yol.  VI.,  No.  4,  December,  1891,  p.  652. 


THE  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


67 


imagination,  he  must  then  ideally  put  all  factors  together, 
and  must  try  to  discover  the  conditions  and  the  laws  of 
their  combination.  Not  until  he  has  done  this  is  he  ready 
to  bring  deduction  to  the  test  of  comparison  with  histori¬ 
cal  facts  and  statistical  tabulations. 

We  are  come  finally  to  the  question  whether  the  methods 
of  sociology  can  be  perfected  under  the  actual  conditions 
of  scientific  research  and  of  university  education.  The 
successful  pursuit  of  any  modern  science  requires  a  broad 
range  of  intellectual  sympathies.  In  some  degree  every 
science  is  dependent  on  many  other  sciences  for  both  con¬ 
cepts  and  methods.  Its  devotees  cannot  be  wholly  un¬ 
familiar  with  the  instruments  or  with  the  modes  of 
reasoning  that  are  employed  by  their  co-workers  in  other 
fields.  All  this  is  preeminently  true  of  sociology.  Yet 
the  specializing  tendencies  of  modern  research  are  due 
quite  as  much  to  mental  limitations  as  to  the  distinctness 
of  the  inquiries  pursued.  Possibly  this  subjective  fact, 
rather  than  any  objective  feature,  is  more  and  more  de¬ 
termining  the  classification  of  the  sciences  for  university 
purposes.  Subjects  are  grouped  together  in  schools  or 
departments  if  they  call  for  the  same  or  similar  aptitudes, 
and  if  they  are  pursued  by  the  same  or  similar  methods. 
If,  then,  a  science  is  allied  by  its  subject-matter  to  knowl¬ 
edge  of  one  kind  while  by  its  method  it  is  allied  to  knowl¬ 
edge  of  a  different  kind,  its  chances  of  winning  the  favour 
of  students  are  small.  If  sociology  is  of  interest  chiefly  to 
students  of  the  economic,  the  legal,  and  the  political  sci¬ 
ences,  but  must  be  developed  by  methods  with  which  they 
are  little  familiar,  any  hope  of  establishing  it  securely  as 
a  university  study  may  as  well  be  abandoned. 

There  is  nothing  in  these  considerations  that  should  dis¬ 
turb  either  the  student  or  the  teacher  of  sociology.  If  the 
methods  of  sociology  present  peculiar  difficulties  to  stu¬ 
dents  of  political  economy  or  of  politics,  or  of  any  histori- 


68 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


cal  science,  the  methods  of  that  science,  and  not  those  of 
sociology,  are  grievously  at  fault.  The  students  of  every 
social  science  should  be  perfectly  familiar  with  the  com¬ 
parative  and  the  historical  methods  in  their  qualitative  and 
in  their  statistical  forms.  So  much  all  will  admit.  The 
only  question  that  can  be  raised  relates  to  the  deductive 
process.  Can  students  of  the  economic,  the  legal,  and  the 
political  sciences  be  expected  to  master  the  method  of  psy¬ 
chological  synthesis  ? 

In  answer  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  there  is  no 
other  one  thing  in  the  whole  range  of  their  possible  studies 
which  it  is  so  imperatively  necessary  that  they  should 
master.  The  young  man  who  is  to-day  entering  upon  the 
special  researches  of  economics  or  of  public  law  will  soon 
discover  that  he  must  become  a  critical  observer  of  the 
psychological  assumptions  underlying  those  sciences  if  he 
expects  to  keep  pace  with  their  future  progress.  The  pro¬ 
longed  controversy  over  the  respective  merits  of  deductive 
and  historical  methods  is  approaching  an  issue  that  no  one 
foresaw.  Those  who,  a  dozen  or  fifteen  years  ago,  expected 
almost  unlimited  additions  to  knowledge  from  the  appli¬ 
cation  of  historical  researches  to  political  and  economic 
questions,  have  been  disappointed  not  a  little.  There  is 
an  unmistakable  reaction  toward  the  freer  employment  of 
analysis  and  deduction.  But  these  methods  can  never 
again  be  used  in  quite  the  old  way.  The  basis  of  investi¬ 
gation  must  be  widened ;  innumerable  facts  that  were  once 
ignored  must  be  taken  into  account.  It  is  significant  that 
while  this  conclusion  has  slowly  been  forced  upon  scientific 
attention,  a  new  life  has  been  infused  into  theoretical 
studies  by  men  who  have  approached  them  from  the  psy¬ 
chological  side.  Unquestionably  to  their  reexamination 
of  the  psychological  premises  of  political  economy  we  owe 
the  fresh  impulse  that  is  making  itself  felt  in  every  depart¬ 
ment  of  economic  speculation.  Much  the  same  thing  may 
be  affirmed  of  comparative  jurisprudence.  But  here  again 


THE  METHODS  OE  SOCIOLOGY 


69 


the  new  view  is  not  like  the  old.  Historical  researches 
having  shown  the  essential  relativity  of  all  systems  of 
right,  the  inquiry  is  now  concerning  the  subjective  or 
psychological  basis  of  the  historical  systems.  No  doubt 
the  doctrine  that  will  emerge  will  be  unlike  eighteenth 
century  notions,  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  conviction  is 
gaining  ground  that  the  further  progress  of  the  sciences 
of  public  law  will  depend  greatly  on  a  more  thorough  study 
of  the  psychology  of  law.  And  public  law  and  economics 
are  but  two  of  many  sciences  that  are  grounded  in  social 
psychology.  They  all  build  on  psychological  assumptions, 
and  the  assumptions  are  either  true  or  imaginary.  The 
phantasms  and  symbols  of  an  imaginary  psychology  have 
ruled  the  social  sciences  long  enough.  Whether  we  like 
it  or  not,  we  must  now  throw  over  our  illusions  and  must 
learn  to  substitute  for  them  the  truths  of  a  rational 
sociology. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  PROBLEMS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  remains  to  inquire  what  investigations  or  problems 
the  student  will  have  to  take  up  as  work  of  detail  in  soci¬ 
ology  if  he  accepts  that  conception  of  the  science  which 
has  been  explained  and  defended  in  the  foregoing  pages. 
It  is  not  enough  that  the  boundaries  of  sociology  can  be 
marked,  and  that  the  territory  so  defined  can  be  explored 
by  exact  methods.  Sociology  is  but  a  nominal  science 
unless  its  domain  includes  a  multitude  of  logically  related 
subjects  of  research.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  know 
whether  the  social  elements  and  first  principles  are  numer¬ 
ous  and  intellectually  fruitful,  and  to  know  also  whether 
would-be  inquiries  about  them  are  definite  and  manageable. 

A  brief  survey  of  the  problems  of  sociology  in  the  order 
of  their  systematic  arrangement  will  be  a  sufficient  proof 
that  the  content  of  sociology  is  inexhaustible  and  real. 
Sociological  problems  are  definite,  and  they  admit  of  end¬ 
less  subdivision. 

The  order  of  their  arrangement  has  been  indicated  in 
the  conclusion  that  description  and  history  must  precede 
theory ;  that  it  is  impossible  to  study  with  profit  the  gen¬ 
eral  questions  of  law  and  cause  until  much  has  been 
learned  about  the  concrete  particular  aspects  of  things  and 
of  events ;  that  before  we  generalize  we  must  be  familiar 
with  the  constituent  elements  of  our  phenomena,  with  the 
manner  of  their  action,  with  the  forms  that  they  assume 
in  Combination,  and  with  the  conditions  under  which  the 
combinations  occur. 


70 


THE  PROBLEMS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


71 


Observing,  then,  the  scientific  order  of  arrangement  that 
was  explained  in  the  preceding  chapter,  we  must  class  the 
problems  of  sociology  as  primary  and  secondary.  In  the 
first  class  belong  the  problems  of  social  structure  and 
growth.  In  the  second  class  belong  the  problems  of  so¬ 
cial  process,  law,  and  cause.  The  primary  problems,  in 
turn,  fall  into  two  groups.  One  group  consists  of  problems 
of  description.  The  elements  and  the  present  organization 
of  society  are  their  subject  matter.  The  other  group  con¬ 
sists  of  problems  of  history,  namely,  problems  of  the  origins 
of  society,  and  of  its  evolution  to  the  present  time. 

In  the  first  or  descriptive  group  of  primary  sociological 
problems  there  are  first  of  all  problems  of  the  social  popu¬ 
lation.  These  include  problems  (1)  of  aggregation,  (2)  of 
association  and  of  cooperation  or  mutual  aid,  (3)  of  the 
social  character  of  the  population,  and  (4)  of  the  classes 
into  which  population  is  differentiated. 

Social  relations  presuppose  an  actual  coming  together 
of  the  individual  elements  of  a  social  aggregate.  So  far 
from  being  a  simple  phenomenon,  however,  concourse 
depends  strictly  upon  definite  conditions,  and  it  assumes 
a  variety  of  forms,  which  are  related  to  each  other  in 
curious  and  intimate  ways  that  are  of  great  significance 
for  social  theory.  Concourse  develops  into  intercourse, 
the  chief  aspect  of  which  is  the  interchange  of  thought 
and  feeling  by  means  of  language,  and  the  chief  conse¬ 
quences  of  which  are  the  evolution  of  a  consciousness  of 
kind  and  of  a  nature  that  is  intellectually  and  morally 
fitted  for  social  life.  The  development  is  unequally  ac¬ 
complished  in  different  individuals,  and,  accordingly,  a 
number  of  classes  appear  in  the  population.  These  are, 
first,  the  social,  —  the  positive  and  constructive  element 
in  society, — characterized  by  a  high  development  of  the 
consciousness  of  kind ;  second,  the  non-social,  in  which  the 
consciousness  of  kind  is  as  yet  imperfect  but  not  degener- 


72 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ate,  —  a  class  from  which  the  other  social  classes  are  differ¬ 
entiated  ;  third,  the  pseudo-social  or  pauper,  in  which  the 
consciousness  of  kind  has  become  degenerate ;  and  fourth, 
the  anti-social  or  criminal,  in  which  the  consciousness  of 
kind  is  approaching  extinction. 

Thus  the  influences  that  determine  the  aggregation  and 
the  intermingling  of  population  elements,  their  cooperative 
activities,  their  mutual  modification,  their  resulting  char¬ 
acteristics  and  differentiation,  present  many  interesting 
points  for  study,  both  on  their  own  account  and  in  their 
relation  to  other  features  of  the  social  system. 

Next  in  order  come  problems  of  the  social  consciousness, 
or  social  mind,  including  its  content  of  common  memories 
and  ideas,  its  aspirations  and  its  volition.  The  sociologist 
will  not  follow  these  into  the  details  of  archaeology, 
mythology,  and  comparative  religion,  or  into  those  of  law 
and  institutions,  in  all  of  which  the  social  mind  finds 
expression.  But  he  should  understand  the  constitution, 
the  genesis,  and  the  activity  of  the  social  mind  itself. 

Following  these,  finally,  are  problems  of  the  social  struct¬ 
ure.  In  the  various  attempts  that  have  been  made  to 
organize  a  systematic  sociology,  the  problems  of  social 
structure,  or  organization,  have  received  the  larger  share 
of  attention.  There  are  several  ambitious  works  that  deal 
with  little  else.  Much,  however,  remains  to  be  done,  not 
only  in  minute  examination,  but  also  in  the  broader  group¬ 
ing  of  parts.  By  social  structure  many  writers  mean  the 
ethnographic  grouping  of  population  into  tribes  and  na¬ 
tions.  Others  understand  by  the  term  the  organization 
of  state  and  church  and  the  innumerable  minor  associa¬ 
tions  for  particular  purposes.  Both  views  are  right,  within 
their  range,  but  neither  is  complete.  Social  structure  in¬ 
cludes  both  ethnographic  grouping  and  purposive  organ¬ 
ization.  What,  then,  is  the  essential  difference  between 
them ;  and  does  the  one  in  any  way  limit  or  determine  the 
other  ? 


THE  PROBLEMS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


73 


The  answer  is  that  the  social  mind,  acting  upon  spon¬ 
taneous,  unconscious,  or  accidental  combinations  of  in¬ 
dividuals,  evolves  two  different  forms  of  alliance,  which 
may  be  called,  respectively,  the  social  composition  and  the 
social  constitution. 

By  social  composition  is  to  be  understood  a  combination 
of  small  groups  into  larger  aggregates,  when  each  of  the 
smaller  groups  is  so  far  complete  as  a  social  organism  that, 
if  necessary,  it  could  lead  an  independent  life  for  a  time. 
Family,  clan,  tribe,  and  folk,  or  family,  township,  common¬ 
wealth,  and  nation,  are  names  that  stand  both  for  elements 
and  for  stages  in  social  composition. 

By  social  constitution,  on  the  other  hand,  is  to  be 
understood  a  differentiation  of  the  social  aggregate  into 
mutually  dependent  classes  or  organizations,  among  which 
there  is  a  division  of  labour. 

The  social  composition  is  like  the  composition  of  living 
cells  into  a  large  organism.  The  social  constitution  is 
like  the  differentiation  of  an  organism  into  specialized 
tissues  and  organs. 

Aggregation,  association,  and  resulting  changes  in  the 
character  and  activity  of  the  population  are  the  first  stage 
in  a  synthesis  of  social  phenomena.  The  evolution  of  the 
social  mind  is  the  second  stage.  The  third  stage  is  the 
social  composition ;  the  fourth  is  the  social  constitution. 

Roughly  corresponding  to  the  four  stages  of  social  syn¬ 
thesis  are  four  stages  of  sequence.  These  present  the 
second,  or  historical,  group  of  the  primary  problems  of 
sociology. 

Most  of  the  forms  of  concourse,  intercourse,  and  mutual 
aid  have  their  beginnings  in  animal  society.  By  means  of 
them  animal  life  is  developed  into  its  various  types. 
Therefore  this  stage  of  association  may  be  characterized 
as  zoogenic,  and  the  study  of  it,  as  it  is  exhibited  in  animal 
communities,  is  zoogenic  sociology. 


74 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  development  of  the  social  mind  and  the  genesis  of  a 
varied  tradition  mark  the  transition  from  animal  to  man. 
It  is  the  anthropogenic  stage  of  association,  and  its  investi¬ 
gation  is  anthropogenic  sociology. 

The  social  mind  acting  on  spontaneous  forms  of  alliance 
creates  the  family,  the  clan,  and  the  tribe,  and  later  the 
folk  and  the  nation.  This  is  the  ethnogenic  stage  of  social 
evolution,  and  to  it  corresponds  ethnogenic  sociology. 

Finally,  the  integration  of  tribes  and  petty  nations  into 
territorial  and  national  states  makes  possible  a  magnificent 
development  of  the  social  constitution,  a  wonderful  exten¬ 
sion  of  the  division  of  labour,  a  high  utilization  of  re¬ 
sources,  a  rapid  multiplication  of  population,  and  a  demo¬ 
cratic  evolution  of  the  social  mind.  This,  then,  is  the 
demogenic  stage  of  social  evolution,  and  the  study  of  it 
is  demogenic  sociology.1 

A  survey  of  social  growth  and  structure  will  probably 
have  convinced  the  investigator  of  the  reality  of  social 
evolution.  But  whether  evolution  is  in  any  sense  a 
progress,  and,  if  it  is,  then  in  what  sense,  are  questions 
still  unanswered.  The  idea  of  progress  must  be  examined. 
What  does  the  word  “progress”  legitimately  mean?  If  it 
has  a  rational  meaning,  are  there  any  facts  and  generaliza¬ 
tions,  disclosed  by  sociology,  that  correspond  to  the  idea  ? 
If  this  question,  again,  is  affirmatively  answered,  the 

1  Dr.  John  Franklin  Crowell,  recently  Fellow  in  Sociology  in  Columbia 
College,  in  a  forthcoming  work  on  “  Sociological  Types  ”  uses  the  admira¬ 
ble  terms  “  sociality,”  “  propriety,”  “  institutionally,”  and  “  ideality  ”  to 
designate  qualities  of  the  social  nature,  and  stages  of  social  development. 
I  should  add  the  term  “conventionality,”  and  the  five  terms  would 
then  correspond  to  stages  of  historical  evolution.  Through  Zoogenic 
association  there  is  an  evolution  of  sociality.  In  Anthropogenic  associa¬ 
tion  there  is  an  evolution  of  conventionality,  i.e.  of  the  use  of  conventional 
signs  in  communication,  and  of  conventional  ceremonies  in  social  inter¬ 
course.  In  Ethnogenic  association  there  is  an  evolution  of  propriety,  i.e. 
of  the  habits,  usages,  and  properties  that  seem  to  be  appropriate  to  a 
particular  society.  In  Demogenic  association  there  is  an  evolution  of 
institutionality  and  of  ideality. 


THE  PROBLEMS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


75 


sociologist  must  inquire  into  the  nature  of  progress.  He 
must  attempt  to  resolve  the  conception  into  simpler  terms 
and  so  far  to  explain  it. 

Such  are  the  primary  sociological  problems,  which  must 
be  thoroughly  worked  over  before  the  more  complex,  and 
in  every  respect  more  difficult,  secondary  problems  can  be 
mastered.  Yet  the  secondary  problems  have  often  been 
attacked  first,  without  the  slightest  perception  of  their 
scientific  relation  to  the  sort  of  inquiries  that  have  just 
been  outlined.  They  are  more  momentous,  and  involve  a 
relatively  large  proportion  of  pure  theory.  On  this  account, 
perhaps,  they  have  received  the  larger  share  of  attention. 

First  among  them  are  the  exceedingly  intricate  prob¬ 
lems  of  the  interplay  of  social  forces  and  motives.  If  in 
studying  the  historical  evolution  of  society  we  are  led  to 
affirm  the  reality  of  progress,  we  shall  inevitably  find  that 
it  involves  some  continuing  change  in  the  magnitude  of 
the  psychical  factor  in  society,  and  in  its  relative  impor¬ 
tance,  as  compared  with  the  physical  factor,  in  the  forward 
social  movement.  It  will  be  necessary,  therefore,  to  exam¬ 
ine  next  the  social  process.  By  this  term  we  must  be 
careful  to  understand  not  the  successive  phases  of  social 
growth  or  evolution,  which  present  primary  problems  of 
sociology,  but  rather  the  process  itself,  from  which  the 
phases  of  evolution  result.  The  problems  of  social  process 
are  concerned  with  successive  steps  in  the  interaction  of 
physical  forces  and  conscious  motives.  They  involve  a 
study  of  the  nature  and  forms  of  volitional  association, 
and  of  its  reactions  upon  social  character  and  activity. 

Obviously,  the  sociologist  has  come  by  this  time  to  prob¬ 
lems  of  law  and  cause.  The  question  over  which  contro¬ 
versy  has  so  long  been  waged,  whether  there  are  any  true 
natural,  or  cosmic,  laws  of  social  phenomena,  cannot  be 
avoided,  but  it  is  not  to  be  answered  by  mere  argument 
about  the  possibility  or  the  impossibility  of  law  in  the 


76 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


world  of  conscious  human  affairs.  It  must  be  met  by  show¬ 
ing  that  social  laws  exist,  and  by  demonstrating  their  opera¬ 
tion.  The  law  of  social  choices  which,  I  have  claimed, 
is  one  of  the  sociologist’s  main  quests,  must  be  formulated, 
and  likewise  the  law  of  social  survivals.  When  this  has 
been  done,  attention  must  be  given  to  the  further  questions 
of  cause.  Since  volition  has  been  recognized  as  one  cause 
of  social  changes,  the  sociologist  must  decide  whether  he 
should  regard  it  as  an  independent,  original  cause,  or  as 
secondary  and  derived.  He  must  decide,  further,  whether 
or  not  he  finds  in  physical  nature  the  sole  original  source 
of  social  energy. 

Not  until  all  these  studies  have  been  made,  will  the 
sociologist  be  qualified  to  deal  with  those  final  questions 
that  have  so  often  been  placed  at  the  very  beginning  of 
sociological  exposition.  What  is  a  society?  Is  it  an  or¬ 
ganism,  or  is  it  organic  and  something  more?  Is  it  essen¬ 
tially  a  physical  thing,  or  is  it  a  complex  of  psychical 
relations  ?  Has  it  a  function,  or  purpose,  has  it  an  intelli¬ 
gible  destiny,  or  end?  In  adequate  answers  to  questions 
like  these  will  be  found  the  true  scientific  conception  of 
society  and,  as  well,  the  rational  social  ideal. 


Book  II 


the  elements  and  structure 

OF  SOCIETY 


CHAPTER  I 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 

All  the  elements  of  society  are  conserved  in  its  physical 
basis,  the  social  population.  With  a  study  of  population, 
first  in  its  outward  or  physical  aspect,  and  second  in  its 
conscious  activities  and  moral  qualities,  the  descriptive 
analysis  of  society  must  begin. 

In  the  study  of  population  on  its  physical  side  the  facts 
of  aggregation  or  grouping  are  the  first  to  claim  attention. 
The  distribution  of  animal  and  human  life  over  the  surface 
of  the  earth  is  no  uniform  dispersion  of  solitary  individuals. 
With  few  exceptions,  living  beings  are  disposed  in  groups 
which  here  are  loose  and  scattered,  and  there  are  massed  in 
dense  aggregations.  Some  degree  of  aggregation  is  the 
indispensable  condition  to  the  evolution  of  society.  That 
there  may  be  communication,  mutual  aid,  and  companion¬ 
ship,  there  must  be  propinquity  and  contact. 

The  conception  of  nature  as  “  red  in  tooth  and  claw  ” 
is  very  dear  to  moralists  and  politicians,  but,  unhappily, 
moralists  and  politicians  do  not  know  nature  intimately. 
A  world  of  living  creatures  that  fear  and  hate,  shun  and 
attack  one  another  without  restraint,  is  not  a  fact  of  obser¬ 
vation.  It  is  a  pure  a  priori  creation  of  the  “pure  ”  reason. 

In  the  real  world  of  nature  animals  generally  are  social. 
Of  all  the  species  of  mammals  and  birds,  comparatively 
few  individuals  lead  isolated  lives.  Many  even  of  the 
lower  vertebrates  are  social,  and  a  large  proportion  of  in¬ 
vertebrate  life  goes  on  under  conditions  of  association. 

The  societies  of  mammals  that  may  be  observed  now, 

79 


80 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


after  centuries  of  gunpowder  civilization,  are  but  debris, 
as  M.  Kropotkin  says,1  of  the  immense  aggregations  of  old. 
In  the  mighty  forests  beyond  the  Alleghanies  less  than  a 
century  ago  there  was  a  teeming  animal  life  that  seems 
now  almost  incredible.  The  pioneer  hunters  found  broad 
roads  through  the  wilderness,  worn  by  countless  genera¬ 
tions  of  bison.  At  the  salt  licks  they  saw  the  ground 
about  them  so  trodden  by  herds  of  bison,  elk,  deer,  and 
wolves,  that  “  there  was  not  as  much  grass  left  as  would 
feed  a  sheep ;  and  the  game  trails  were  like  streets  or  the 
beaten  roads  round  a  city.” 2  They  observed  the  black 
and  the  gray  squirrels  gathering  in  immense  companies  to 
migrate  over  mountain  and  river,  and  saw  clouds  of  pig¬ 
eons  “  that  hid  the  sun  and  broke  down  the  branches  on 
their  roosting  grounds  as  if  a  whirlwind  had  passed.”3 
Siberia,  in  like  manner,  when  the  Russians  took  possession 
of  that  wonderful  land,  was  so  densely  peopled  with  gre¬ 
garious  animals  of  many  kinds  that  its  subjugation  “  was 
nothing  but  a  hunting  expedition  which  lasted  for  two 
hundred  years.”  4 

And  even  now,  after  so  much  necessary  and  wanton 
destruction,  there  still  roam  over  the  vast  plateau  of  central 
Asia  great  bands  of  wild  horses,  wild  donkeys,  and  wild 
camels.  The  steppes  and  Alpine  tracts  of  Europe,  and  the 
mountain  regions  of  the  New  World,  are  still  the  home  of 
herds  of  deer  and  antelopes,  of  gazelles  and  fallow  deer, 
of  wild  goats  and  wild  sheep.  On  the  flat  lands  of  all  the 
great  continents  there  are  still  countless  colonies  of  mice, 
ground  squirrels,  marmots  and  other  rodents,  and  the  col¬ 
onies  of  beavers  are  not  yet  quite  extinct.  The  forests  of 
the  lower  latitudes  of  Asia  and  Africa  are  still  the  abode 
of  numerous  bands  of  elephants  and  rhinoceroses,  and  of 

1  “  Mutual  Aid  Among  Animals,”  Nineteenth  Century ,  Yol.  XXVIII., 
September  and  November,  1890,  p.  702. 

2  Roosevelt,  “The  Winning  of  the  West,”  Yol.  I.,  p.  156. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  123. 

*  Kropotkin,  loc.  cit .,  p.  702. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


81 


numberless  societies  of  monkeys.  In  the  north  the  rein¬ 
deer  still  aggregate  in  herds,  and  yet  farther  north  survive 
herds  of  musk-oxen  and  countless  bands  of  polar  foxes. 
The  coasts  of  the  ocean  are  enlivened  by  flocks  of  seals, 
and  its  waters  by  shoals  of  sociable  cetaceans.1  Is  it  sur¬ 
prising  that  M.  Kropotkin  exclaims,  “  How  trifling,  in  com¬ 
parison  with  them,  are  the  numbers  of  the  carnivores !  ” 

Neither  in  savagery  nor  in  civilization  do  men  normally 
live  in  isolation.2  The  wandering  hordes  of  Blackfellows 
in  Australia,  of  Bushmen  in  Africa,  of  Fuegians  at  the 
extremity  of  South  America,  and  of  Arctic  Highlanders  in 
Greenland  are  small  and  unstable,  but  they  are  none  the 
less  groups,  composed  each  of  several  families.  In  fact, 
only  in  civilization  is  safe  and  comfortable  life  possible  to 
an  isolated  household,  and  there  it  is  possible  in  appearance 
more  than  in  reality,  because  means  of  communication 
have  annihilated  distance.  And  even  apparent  or  partial 
isolation  is  a  product  of  highly  special  circumstances,  and 
always  has  a  tendency  to  give  place  to  aggregation.  The 
pioneer’s  cabin  or  dug-out  is  a  vanishing  form.  The  farm¬ 
house  that  is  not  a  unit  in  a  “  neighbourhood  ”  or  “  district  ” 
is  exceptional,  and  sooner  or  later  is  abandoned.  No¬ 
where  in  the  world  has  a  relative  isolation  of  families  been 
so  frequent  as  in  the  United  States,  but  even  here  it  is  a 
rapidly  disappearing  condition.  Already  nearly  one-third 
of  the  people  of  this  country  live  in  cities  of  eight  thou¬ 
sand  or  more  inhabitants  each,  and  in  the  North  Atlantic 
division  about  one-half  of  the  population  is  urban  by  this 
census  standard.  According  to  the  enumeration  of  1890, 
there  were  then  in  the  United  States  28  cities,  each  of 
100,000  or  more  inhabitants  ;  96  cities  of  25,000  to  100,000 

1  Kropotkin,  loc.  cit.,  p.  702. 

2  For  an  account  of  suck  exceptions  as  the  cave-dwelling  Indians  of 
Mexico,  see  Lumholtz,  “Cave  Dwellers  of  the  Sierra  Madre,”  “Memoirs 
of  the  International  Congress  of  Anthropology  ”  ;  and  for  a  description  of 
the  habits  of  the  ancient  Welsh,  see  Seebohm,  “  The  Tribal  System  in 
Wales,”  pp.  46,  47. 


G 


82 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


inhabitants ;  324  cities  of  8000  to  25,000  inhabitants  ;  1074 
boroughs  and  villages  of  2500  to  8000  inhabitants,  and 
2193  villages  of  1000  to  2500  inhabitants.1 

Among  all  species,  and  in  every  stage  of  evolution,  the 
extent  of  aggregation  and  its  place  or  position  are  deter¬ 
mined  by  external  physical  conditions.  Even  when  men 
have  become  united  by  sympathies  and  beliefs,  the  possi¬ 
bility  of  perpetuating  their  union  is  a  question  of  the  char¬ 
acter  and  resources  of  their  environment.  The  distribu¬ 
tion  of  food  is  the  dominating  fact.  Animals  and  men 
dwell  together  where  a  food  supply  is  found,  or  may  be 
certainly  and  easily  produced.  Other  physical  circum¬ 
stances  of  the  environment,  however,  such  as  temperature 
and  exposure,  surface  and  altitude,  which  make  life  in 
some  places  comparatively  easy,  in  others  difficult  or  im¬ 
possible,  exert  an  influence  not  to  be  overlooked. 

Swarms  of  locusts  are  a  familiar  example  of  aggregation 
conditioned  in  place  and  extent  by  food  supply.  Certain 
sea  creatures  sometimes  form  enormous  bands  on  account 
of  the  temperature  of  the  water,  the  direction  of  the  cur¬ 
rents,  and  the  abundance  of  their  aliments.  Such  are  the 
polycistines,  the  medusae,  the  ctenophores,  the  nautilli,  the 
molluscs,  and  many  crustaceans. 2  Birds  live  together 
where  their  favourite  foods  are  found,  or  near  sheltered 
springs,3  or  where  nesting-places  are  favourable.  The 
groupings  vary  because  not  all  places  are  equally  attractive 
to  all  species.  The  tops  of  high  trees  in  inaccessible 
places  are  crowded  with  crows’  nests ;  hedges,  with  the 
nests  of  smaller  birds.  Farm-houses  and  barns  give  shelter 
to  colonies  of  swallows,  and  old  towers  are  the  refuge  of 
hundreds  of  nocturnal  birds.  Wolves  and  wild  dogs  hunt 

1  “  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  I. 

2  Espinas,  “Les  soctet^s  animates, ”  p.  461. 

8  Abbott,  “A  Naturalist’s  Wanderings  about  Home,”  p.  166,  and 
chapter  on  the  “Migrations  of  Inland  Birds.” 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


83 


in  packs  that  are  held  together  by  the  attraction  of  their 
prey.  Squirrels  have  separate  nests,  yet,  “  The  inhabitants 
of  the  separate  nests  remain  in  a  close  intercourse,  and 
when  the  pine  cones  become  rare  in  the  forests  they  in¬ 
habit,  they  emigrate  in  bands.”  Black  squirrels  of  the  West, 
when  they  have  exhausted  the  food  capacity  of  a  region,  as¬ 
semble  in  great  bands  and  move  southward,  devastating 
forests,  fields,  and  gardens,  while  foxes,  polecats,  falcons, 
and  nocturnal  birds  of  prey  follow  their  thick  columns  and 
live  upon  the  individuals  that  fall  behind.  Horses  commonly 
live  in  numerous  associations  made  up  of  many  studs,  each 
consisting  of  a  number  of  mares  under  the  leadership  of  a 
male.  When  a  drought  is  burning  the  grass  in  the 
prairies,  they  gather  in  herds  of  sometimes  10,000  individ¬ 
uals  strong  and  migrate. 1 

Scarcity  of  food  compels  the  Bushmen  to  break  up  into 
small  bands.  It  strictly  limits  the  hordes  of  the  Austra¬ 
lian  Blackfellows,  who  wander  over  barren  wastes  in 
search  of  any  eatable  root,  worm,  or  insect ;  of  the 
degraded  Shoshone  (Ute)  Indians  of  the  Rocky  Moun¬ 
tain  regions,  who  eagerly  devour  pine  nuts  and  ber¬ 
ries,  snakes  and  lizards;  and  of  the  Fuegians,  who  have 
roamed  the  shores  of  their  island  searching  for  shell-fish 
until  “in  the  course  of  ages  their  shells,  with  fish-bones 
and  other  rubbish,  have  formed  long  banks  above  high- 
water  mark.”2  It  might  seem  from  these  examples  that 
the  food  supply  is  in  such  cases  only  a  disintegrating  and 
not  at  all  an  aggregating  agency,  but  that  would  be  a  mis¬ 
taken  inference.  The  group  is  maintained  at  a  certain 
size,  as  it  is  prevented  from  growing  larger,  chiefly  by 
the  quantity  of  the  available  food.  Berries,  nuts,  honey, 
insects,  easily  captured  fish  and  animals,  are  ordinarily 
found  in  quantities  more  than  sufficient  for  two  or  three 
individuals,  but  not  sufficient  for  many  scores.  The 

1  Kropotkin,  loc.  cit.,  pp.  700-706. 

2  Tylor,  “  Anthropology,”  p.  207. 


84 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


discovery  of  such  supplies  by  one  or  two  individuals,  or 
by  a  family,  attracts  others  as  surely  as  the  discovery 
of  a  good  fishing  or  hunting  ground  attracts  sportsmen, 
and  the  number  of  individuals  cohering  in  a  society  is 
normally  as  many  as  can  find  adequate  subsistence  at 
each  camping-place.  This  relation  of  cause  and  effect  is 
more  clearly  shown  when  any  unusual  change  in  the  food 
supply  occurs.  Innuit  villages  enlarge  or  dwindle,  are 
occupied  or  deserted,  as  the  walruses  multiply  or  disap¬ 
pear,  or  change  their  haunts.  In  Australia,  when  a  dead 
whale  is  cast  on  the  seashore,  fires  are  lighted  and  hordes 
gather  from  every  direction,  until  many  hundreds  of 
persons  are  congregated  for  days  of  repletion.1 

Societies  in  which  a  relatively  numerous  population 
coheres  for  many  generations,  and  in  which  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  social  activities  and  relationships  is  carried  far 
beyond  anything  seen  in  the  lower  hordes,  are  found 
always  in  relatively  bountiful  environments.  An  exam¬ 
ination  of  the  geographical  distribution  of  existing  or  recent 
tribal  societies  verifies  this  generalization.  The  great 
tribal  societies  of  North  America  and  of  South  America 
were  in  occupation  of  magnificent  habitats.  The  Iroquois 
held  possession  of  a  territory  of  unsurpassed  resources  and 
of  an  ideally  perfect  geographical  unity.  The  Algonquin 
tribes,  maintaining  communication  from  beyond  the  St. 
Lawrence  on  the  north  and  east  to  Virginia  on  the  south 
and  the  lands  of  the  Dakotahs  on  the  west,  were  equally 
favoured  on  a  large  scale.  The  mound-building  tribes  of 
the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  valleys,  the  Aztecs  of  Mexico,  the 
Zuni  of  the  Southwest,  the  Mayas  of  Yucatan,  and  the  In¬ 
cas  of  Peru,  offer  other  striking  confirmations.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Shoshones  of  the  interior  basins  and  the 
numerous  tribes  beyond  the  Sierras,  which  occupied  frag¬ 
ments  of  barren  territory  between  which  communication 
was  for  the  most  part  extremely  difficult,  were  low  in  the 

1  Grey,  “Northwest  and  Western  Australia,”  Yol.  II.,  pp.  276-278. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


85 


scale  of  development  and  small  in  numbers.  Like  evidence 
is  afforded  in  great  abundance  by  the  tribal  societies  of 
Africa,  Asia,  and  Australia.  Only  bountiful  and  easily 
traversable  areas  permit  those  aggregations  of  men  which 
can  develop  into  large  tribal  societies. 

In  the  distribution  of  the  civilized  and  semi-civilized 
populations  of  the  world  the  relation  of  aggregation  to 
environment  is  seen  on  a  magnificent  scale.  The  first 
really  dense  massing  of  human  population  was  in  that 
wonderful  valley,  six  hundred  miles  long  with  an  average 
breadth  of  seven  miles,  over  which  every  summer  from 
immemorial  time  the  Nile  has  spread  the  rich  black  silt 
of  the  Abyssinian  hills.  The  valley  of  the  Euphrates, 
which  for  thousands  of  years  was  Egypt’s  only  rival, 
was  hardly  less  fertile.  In  the  modern  world  the  dense 
populations  are  in  the  valleys  of  the  Ganges,  the  Yellow 
River,  the  Po,  and  the  Rhine.1  Contrast  with  these  regions 
the  Saharan  sands  of  Africa,  which  have  never  been  sub¬ 
jugated  to  human  use  by  the  civilizations  that  have  envi¬ 
roned  them  on  the  east,  north,  and  west  since  the  dawn  of 
history ;  the  vast  central  desert  of  Asia,  the  home  of  the 
nomad,  which  divides  the  agricultural  millions  of  India 
and  of  China  from  the  agricultural  and  industrial  millions 
of  Europe,  and  the  desert  of  western  Australia,  which 
“seems  to  constitute  a  great  wilderness  which  can  never 
be  subjugated  by  the  singularly  enterprising  people  who 
have  occupied  its  southern  and  eastern  boundary.”  2 

These  phenomena  have  been  repeated  in  every  variety 
in  the  peopling  of  North  America.  In  that  swarming  of 
men  westward,  which  has  borne  the  centre  of  population  in 
the  United  States  from  a  point  east  of  Baltimore  in  1790, 
to  a  point  midway  between  Cincinnati  and  Indianapolis 
in  1890,  there  has  been  no  indiscriminate  scattering.  Cer¬ 
tain  centres  of  attraction  have  dominated  the  movement. 

1  See  Gerland,  “  Atlas  der  Volkerkunde,”  Karte  II. 

2  Slialer,  “  The  United  States  of  America,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  16. 


86 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


So  far  as  climate  is  concerned,  nearly  every  part  of  this 
continent  could  be  inhabited  by  man,  but  not  in  every 
part  can  he  easily  obtain  subsistence.  North  of  a  line 
extending  from  southeastern  Labrador  to  near  the  head 
of  Lake  Superior,  thence  to  the  southern  end  of  Lake 
Athabasca,  and  thence  to  the  mouth  of  the  Frazer  River, 
is  a  region  of  delightful  summer  warmth  and  not  unen¬ 
durable  winter  cold;  it  is  covered  with  primeval  forests 
that  are  the  home  of  moose,  musk-oxen,  and  reindeer, 
and  of  many  fur-bearing  animals,  and  abounds  in  rivers 
and  lakes  that  are  well  stocked  with  fish,  —  a  region  in 
many  ways  attractive,  but  grainless.  It  will  “remain  a 
wilderness,  unsought  as  the  dwelling-place  of  civilized 
man,  but  it  is  likely  that  it  will  become  the  seat  and 
stronghold  of  the  native  Indians,  who  there  may  find  a 
refuge  from  the  debasement  and  final  extinction  which 
menaces  them  in  all  parts  of  the  continent  which  are 
suited  for  the  uses  of  our  race.”1  Besides  this  northern 
wilderness  there  is  south  of  its  western  half  an  arid  region 
which  is  the  fourth  great  desert  of  the  world.  It  lies 
westward  from  the  one-hundredth  meridian  to  the  coast 
ranges  of  the  Pacific,  and  stretches  from  the  Canadian 
border,  where  it  is  nearly  a  thousand  miles  wide,  into 
Mexico,  where  it  is  three  or  four  hundred  miles  wide.2 
Irrigation  may  yet  make  this  region  the  seat  of  great  and 
prosperous  communities,  but  as  yet  its  population  is  less 
than  two  inhabitants  to  the  square  mile. 

In  wonderful  contrast  is  the  region  east  of  the  one- 
hundredth  meridian.  Here  the  rainfall  is  greater  than  is 
necessary  for  agriculture,  and  the  fertility  is  of  a  degree 
almost  unknown  elsewhere  outside  of  the  tropics.  In  no 
other  land  of  equal  extent  does  the  soil  bring  forth  so 
great  a  variety  of  products  fit  for  human  use,  and  nowhere 
else  are  drought  and  flood  so  narrowly  localized  by  topog- 

1  Shaler,  Yol.  L,  pp.  11-12. 

a  Ibid.,  pp.  16-17. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


87 


raphy  and  by  the  direction  of  atmospheric  currents  as  to 
make  a  general  failure  of  the  harvests  so  nearly  impossible.1 
Within  this  region  population  has  increased  from  3,929,214 
in  1790  to  59,594,637  in  1890. 

Within  this  region,  however,  is  a  great  variety  of  con¬ 
ditions  and  resources  to  which  the  local  distribution  of 
population  conforms.  Thus  in  1890  the  coast  swamps  had 
a  population  of  21.5  to  the  square  mile ;  the  Atlantic  plain 
74.4,  the  Piedmont  region  69.5,  the  New  England  hills 
40.7,  the  Appalachian  mountain  region  49.8,  the  Cumber- 
land-Alleghany  plateau  59.3,  the  interior  timbered  region 
44.3,  the  Lake  region  25.1,  the  Ozark  mountain  region  22.8, 
the  Alluvial  region  of  the  Mississippi  23.6,  and  the  prairie 
region  28. 3.2  Altitude  and  temperature,  as  well  as  resources, 
have  had  their  effect.  The  average  altitude  of  the  United 
States  is  about  2500  feet  above  sea-level,  but  more  than 
three-fourths  of  the  population  live  below  the  level  of  1000 
feet  above  the  sea  and  more  than  nine-tenths  below  that 
of  1500  feet.  Three-fourths  live  between  the  isotherms 
of  forty-five  and  sixty  degrees. 

Aggregation  is  itself  a  condition  favourable  to  further 
aggregation ;  because  it  affords  protection  to  individuals, 
and  because  it  normally  is  followed  by  social  evolution. 
The  distribution  of  civilized  populations,  especially,  is 
affected  by  artificial  conditions  that  supplement  natural 
conditions.  The  strictly  primary  means  of  subsistence  are 
edible  fruits,  grains,  roots,  fish,  and  game  in  their  natural 
state.  Foods  preserved  and  stored  up  are  a  secondary 
means  of  subsistence  which  enable  men  to  engage  in  other 
than  extractive  industries.  The  accumulation  of  secondary 
means  of  subsistence  in  great  cities,  and  the  multiplication 
there  of  special  forms  of  occupation,  are  powerful  attractions. 
Methods  of  commerce  also,  and  of  industry,  have  an  in* 

1  Shaler,  Vo!  I.,  pp.  18-19. 

2  “  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  I,,  p.  lxi. 


88 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


portant  influence.  Throughout  the  present  century  steam 
power  has  concentrated  manufacturing  operations  and 
factory  populations.  In  the  twentieth  century  inexpensive 
electric  motors  may  to  some  extent  scatter  them. 

A  population  and  its  environment  are  in  constant  inter¬ 
action.  The  population  converts  the  resources  of  the 
environment  into  vital  energy,  which  is  the  source  of  all 
social  activity.  The  evolution  of  energy,  and  therefore 
the  magnitude  of  possible  achievement,  depends  in  part 
upon  the  inherited  qualities  of  the  population,  but  largely 
also  upon  the  characteristics  of  the  environment,  as  appears 
when  the  unequal  achievements  of  the  same  race  in  different 
parts  of  the  world  are  compared.  In  Europe,  for  example, 
the  Northmen  have  made  the  nations  of  Scandinavia, 
France,  and  England.  In  the  northwestern  common¬ 
wealths  of  the  United  States  they  are  growing  rapidly 
in  numbers,  wealth,  and  power.  In  Iceland  they  have 
hardly  held  their  own  in  the  unequal  contest  with  a 
climate  that  seals  the  resources  of  the  land.  Other  things 
being  equal,  a  dry  atmosphere,  an  alternation  of  cold  with 
heat,  and  a  varied  topography  which  tempts  the  population 
to  move  freely  between  lowland  and  table-land,  sea-coast 
and  mountain  valley,  are  the  conditions  most  favourable  to 
energetic  life.  The  diversified  lands  of  the  north  temperate 
zone,  though  they  do  not  spontaneously  bring  forth  food 
products  in  the  profusion  of  the  tropics,  are  the  home  of 
the  conquering  and  persistently  progressive  populations. 

A  great  part  of  the  energy  of  an  animal  group  or  of  a 
human  population  is  necessarily  expended  in  finding  and 
capturing,  or  in  producing,  food.  The  possibility  of  any 
change  in  the  aggregation  depends  on  a  surplus  of  energy 
that  may  be  left  over  from  merely  life-sustaining  activities. 

The  first  normal  expenditure  of  surplus  energy  is  in  an 
increase  of  numbers.  A  birth  rate  in  excess  of  the  death 
rate  is  in  all  species  a  rough  measure  of  vitality.  Every 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


89 


population  that  increases  by  its  birth  rate  necessarily 
undergoes  also  a  degree  of  evolutionary  change.  The  life 
struggle  is  intensified,  and  natural  selection  is  furthered. 
As  a  rule,  therefore,  the  increasing  groups  are  growing  in 
power  through  an  improvement  in  the  quality  of  their 
component  individuals  as  well  as  by  the  mere  multiplica¬ 
tion  of  their  numbers.  Consequently  the  increasing  groups 
usually  survive,  and  the  non-increasing  groups  usually 
disappear.  Consequently,  also,  a  majority  of  the  groups 
or  populations  that  exist  at  any  particular  time  are  increas¬ 
ing  in  numbers.  For  centuries  all  of  the  European  popu¬ 
lations  that  are  descended  from  the  masterful  Germanic 
invaders  of  the  Roman  Empire  have  been  increasing  in 
numbers  year  by  year,  with  only  rare  exceptions,  like  that 
presented  now  by  the  stationary  population  of  France. 

Among  the  consequences  of  a  natural  increase  of  popu¬ 
lation,  that  one  which  is  of  immediate  sociological  interest 
is  the  evolution  of  a  particular  form  of  aggregation.  To 
give  it  a  technical  name,  it  may  be  called  genetic  aggre¬ 
gation.  It  is  a  group  of  kinsmen  that  have  lived  together 
in  one  locality  from  their  birth.  On  the  smallest  scale  it 
is  merely  a  natural  family,  composed  of  parents  and  their 
children  of  the  first  generation.  On  a  larger  scale  it  is  an 
aggregation  of  two  or  three  generations  of  descendants  of 
a  single  pair.  On  a  scale  yet  larger  and  more  complex  it 
is  an  aggregation  of  families  that  may  have  been  related 
or  not  at  some  former  time,  but  that  now  are  undoubtedly 
of  one  blood  through  mating  or  marrying  in-and-in. 

The  great  colonies  of  social  insects  —  ants,  bees,  and 
wasps  —  are  genetic  aggregations  of  a  simple  sort.  Unfort¬ 
unately  it  is  impossible  to  know  how  far  the  schools  of 
fish,  the  flocks  of  birds,  the  herds  or  bands  of  gregarious 
mammals  are  merely  genetic  aggregations.  It  is  certain 
that  to  some  extent  they  are  of  mixed  origin. 

The  tribal  societies  of  mankind  are  the  most  perfect  of 


90 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


all  examples  of  genetic  aggregation.  Their  whole  scheme 
of  social  organization,  presently  to  be  explained,  is  based 
on  kinship. 

In  civilization  each  nation,  and  within  the  nation  each 
town  and  hamlet,  is  in  great  degree  a  genetic  aggregation. 
The  population  of  England,  so  far  as  it  is  of  English 
blood,  the  population  of  Ireland,  so  far  as  it  is  of  Irish 
blood,  the  population  of  Hungary,  so  far  as  it  is  of 
Magyar  blood,  are  in  a  broad  sense  of  the  term  genetic 
aggregations.1  Local  communities  somewhat  isolated 
tend  to  become  almost  pure  genetic  aggregations.  Such, 
for  example,  are  the  Swedish  settlements  on  the  Aroostook 
in  Maine,  the  smaller  Quaker  hamlets  of  Pennsylvania, 
not  a  few  of  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  communities,  the 
Acadian  settlements  of  Louisiana,  many  of  the  Mormon 
villages  of  Utah,  many  of  the  Scandinavian  villages  of  the 
Northwest,  and  many  of  the  Canadian  French  hamlets  of 
the  province  of  Quebec. 

The  second  normal  expenditure  of  the  surplus  energy  of 
a  population  is  in  wandering.  The  vitality  that  furthers 
aggregation  by  the  multiplication  of  numbers  limits  it  by 
dispersion.  Detachment  from  the  parent  group  results 
from  an  increase  of  animal  energy  as  commonly  and  as 
certainly  as  does  procreation.  Dispersion  may  be  by  indi¬ 
viduals  or  by  groups.  Among  animals  and  primitive  men 
it  is  usually  by  groups.  Flocks  and  herds  in  any  given 
habitat  have  a  normal  size,  which  is  a  phase  of  the  estab¬ 
lished  equilibrium  of  nature,  and  which  is  maintained,  as 
numbers  increase  by  birth,  by  throwing  off  small  bands 
that  seek  new  feeding  grounds  and  become  in  time  aggre¬ 
gations  as  large  as  the  parent  group.  Among  the  lowest 
men,  —  the  Veddahs,  the  Bushmen,  the  Fuegians,  and  the 
Innuit,  —  families  with  the  utmost  freedom  detach  them- 

1  Cf.  Kendall,  “Natural  Heirship:  or,  All  the  World  Akin,”  The 
Nineteenth  Century ,  Vol.  XVIII.,  October,  1885. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


91 


selves  from  one  camp  to  attach  themselves  to  another,  or  to 
form  a  new  one.  The  separation  of  Lot  with  his  flocks  and 
herdsmen  from  Abraham  was  an  incident  that  has  been  end¬ 
lessly  repeated  in  the  patriarchal  groups  of  many  lands.  In¬ 
dividual  emigration  is  a  habit  of  civilized  man.  Of  the  nat¬ 
ural  increase  of  the  population  of  the  United  Kingdom,  by 
births  in  excess  of  deaths,  32.7  per  cent  emigrates  to  other 
lands.  The  corresponding  percentages  for  other  countries 
are:  Germany,  20.1;  Italy,  22;  Sweden,  50;  Norway, 
55.4;  Switzerland,  34.1;  Denmark,  22.2;  France,  5.1. 1 

Dispersed  groups  and  individuals,  adjusting  themselves 
to  new  habitats,  take  on  new  characteristics  through  natural 
selection.  If  they  continue  long  in  the  new  environments 
they  become  new  varieties.  Close  observers  of  animal 
life  easily  detect  the  differences  in  insects,  birds,  or  mam¬ 
mals  of  the  same  species  that  haunt  different  localities. 
In  the  United  States  natural  selection  is  rapidly  producing 
new  types  of  men  and  women  from  almost  every  European 
nationality.  In  a  new  home  natural  selection  goes  on  far 
more  rapidly  than  in  an  old  home.  Because  of  the  inabil¬ 
ity  of  a  large  proportion  of  the  immigrants  to  adapt  them¬ 
selves  to  new  conditions  of  food  and  climate,  and  to  new 
ways  of  life,  the  death  rate  for  a  time  is  high.  These  phe¬ 
nomena  may  be  studied  among  the  American  Irish,  the 
American  Germans,  or  the  American  Italians. 

Emigration,  which  thus  disperses  population  and  pro¬ 
duces  new  types,  subsequently  causes  concentration. 
From  more  or  less  widely  separated  groups  go  forth  new 
streams  of  individuals  that  from  time  to  time  converge 
upon  particular  points,  which,  for  any  reason,  are  centres 
of  attraction.  The  sociologically  interesting  consequence 
is  a  form  of  aggregation  that  differs  essentially  from  ge¬ 
netic  aggregation,  and  which  may  be  called  congregation, 
or  congregate  grouping.  It  is  an  aggregation  of  individ- 

1  Longstaff,  “  Studies  in  Statistics,”  p.  49. 


92 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


uals  or  of  families  that  have  not  been  living  together  from 
their  birth,  and  that  therefore  come  together  as  partial  or 
entire  strangers.  They  may  be  related,  but  usually  are  not, 
in  near  degree.  They  may  not  have  been  dispersed  widely, 
or  they  may  have  been ;  but  in  either  case  their  environ¬ 
ments  have  been  in  some  degree  different,  and  have  pro¬ 
duced  characteristics  more  or  less  unlike. 

The  congregating  of  insects,  fishes,  and  the  smaller  birds 
may  be  witnessed  in  endless  combinations  of  mode  and 
circumstance,  and  to  one  who  loves  to  study  in  humble 
things  the  origins  of  greater  things,  it  is  full  of  fascinating 
interest.  It  may  be  observed  in  the  meadow  to  which  the 
bees  and  butterflies  resort,  at  the  pool  where  the  dragon¬ 
flies  swarm,  at  the  feeding  and  spawning  grounds  where 
the  fish  gather,  in  the  copses  where  a  dozen  varieties  of 
song-birds  may  always  be  found,  and  on  the  marsh  which  the 
water-fowl  frequent.  The  congregating  of  the  mammalia 
is  governed  in  part  by  the  distribution  of  such  necessaries 
of  their  lives  as  water  and  salt.  Probably  the  most  re¬ 
markable  of  all  congregations,  however,  is  the  enormous 
aggregation  of  migrating  birds  and  animals  in  high  north¬ 
ern  latitudes  during  the  short  arctic  summer. 

The  congregate  massing  of  men  at  centres  of  attraction 
is  seen  in  every  stage  of  barbarism  and  of  civilization,  and 
in  every  region.  In  savagery  there  is  always  a  pressure 
from  all  directions  towards  the  best  hunting  and  fishing 
grounds,  v/hich  brings  unacquainted  or  unrelated  bands 
into  contact,  and  causes  chronic  hostility.  The  frightful 
struggles  between  Algonquin  and  Iroquois  tribes  were  an 
incident  of  their  convergence  upon  the  valley  of  the 
Mohawk.  The  valleys  of  the  Delaware,  the  Ohio,  the 
upper  Mississippi,  the  Columbia  and  the  Colorado  rivers 
were  repeatedly  the  centres  of  similar  converging  move¬ 
ments,  and  the  scenes  of  exterminating  wars.  Among 
more  advanced  peoples  congregation  has  usually  been  the 
initial  step  in  their  history ;  as  when  Semitic,  Hamitic, 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


93 


and  Aryan  tribes  pushed  into  Palestine,  or  as  when  Ger¬ 
manic  tribes  invaded  England.  Of  the  congregation  due 
to  individual  emigration  there  have  been  no  instances  more 
significant  than  some  of  recent  occurrence.  It  is  enough 
to  mention  the  movement  of  families  from  every  eastern 
state  into  the  oil  fields  of  Pennsylvania  in  1860 ;  the  mush¬ 
room  growth  of  Leadville  in  1877 ;  the  rush  of  “  boomers  ” 
from  every  quarter  into  Oklahoma  in  1889,  when  50,000 
people  poured  into  that  territory  in  a  single  day,  and  again 
in  1893,  when  the  scene  was  repeated  by  90,000  people, 
and  finally,  the  magic  growth  of  Johannesburg,  a  cosmo¬ 
politan  city  of  50,000  inhabitants,  sprung  up  in  seven  years 
on  the  almost  desolate  steppe  of  the  Transvaal,  in  the  heart 
of  the  gold-bearing  region  of  Africa.1 

Congregation  may  be  temporary  or  permanent.  In 
either  case  it  may  be  primary  or  secondary.  In  primary 
congregation  the  individuals  or  families  that  come  together 
as  strangers  are  remotely  related.  They  are,  that  is,  of  the 
same  stock  or  nationality ;  at  least  of  the  same  race.  In 
secondary  congregation  there  is  a  contact  of  different 
stocks  or  races.  It  is  secondary  because  the  unlike  stocks 
that  come  together  are  themselves  always  products  of  a 
preliminary  congregation  of  elements  less  unlike.  There 
is  no  great  nation  which  is  not  a  product  of  secondary  con¬ 
gregation  ;  none  in  which  secondary  congregation  may  not 
now  be  observed.  In  all  the  historical  studies  of  sociology 
the  distinction  between  primary  and  secondary  congregation 
is  important. 

Thus  it  appears  that  an  aggregation  of  animals  or  of 
human  beings  may  be  a  consequence  of  either  of  two  proc¬ 
esses  or  of  both  combined.  The  place  and  the  extent  of 
aggregation  are  determined  by  external  conditions,  as  has 
been  shown ;  but  the  aggregation  itself  is  caused  by  birth 
or  by  congregation.  The  group  may  be  made  up  of  those 

1  Vincent,  “  Actual  Africa,”  p.  308. 


94 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


descendants  of  a  single  individual,  pair,  or  family,  that 
have  not  yet  separated.  Or  it  may  have  assembled  from 
many  quarters  near  and  far,  —  an  aggregation  at  first  of 
strangers,  drawn  or  driven  together  by  some  powerful 
attraction  or  pressure. 

For  many  centuries  the  first  of  these  two  possibilities 
found  expression  in  political  philosophy  in  the  patriarchal 
theory.  The  second  might  have  been  made  the  basis  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  social  contract,  but  was  not.  Neither 
Hobbes,  nor  Locke,  nor  Rousseau  seems  to  have  doubted 
that  the  “  state  of  nature  ”  in  which  men  were  supposed  to 
have  lived  before  political  covenants  were  thought  of,  was 
an  abiding  in  propinquity,  though  not  in  love,  of  the 
descendants  of  a  first  father.  Nor  has  social  theory  in 
later  years  been  much  disposed  to  question  the  sufficiency 
of  a  genealogical  explanation  of  social  origins.  This  is 
not  remarkable.  The  tribes  and  nations  of  men  have  com¬ 
monly  accounted  for  their  own  beginnings  in  that  way. 
The  myth  of  the  ancient  omnipresence  of  the  patriarchal 
family  has  been  dissolved,  to  be  sure,  by  the  discoveries 
of  Bachofen,  Morgan,  McLennan  and  others,  but  for  the 
purposes  of  a  genealogical  account  of  society,  a  first 
ancestress,  or  a  feminine  clan,  is  quite  as  good  as  a  first 
father. 

Yet  the  sociologist  has  but  to  look  about  him  to  see  that 
a  community  often  begins  as  an  aggregation  of  strangers. 
The  commonwealth  of  California,  for  example,  does  not 
revere  a  progenitor,  male  or  female.  It  has  been  too 
hastily  assumed  that  the  sort  of  social  genesis  which  has 
been  witnessed  in  our  western  states  since  the  first  great 
waves  of  migration  swept  over  the  Alleghanies,  and  more 
recently  in  the  European  colonies  of  Africa  and  Australia, 
is  something  peculiarly  modern.  Probably  it  is  on  the  con¬ 
trary  more  ancient  than  man  himself,  for,  as  we  have  seen, 
it  is  certainly  not  peculiar  to  human  communities  in  con¬ 
trast  to  animal  bands.  The  forces  that  distributed  a  white 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


95 


population  over  the  Mississippi  valley  had  been  at  work 
for  unnumbered  ages  upon  the  abounding  animal  life  of  its 
forests  and  prairies,  and  for  centuries,  at  least,  upon  the 
aboriginal  population  of  red  men,  causing  groupings  that 
were  different,  indeed,  from  those  of  to-day,  but  that  were 
by  no  means  merely  genetic  aggregations. 

Normally,  however,  genetic  and  congregate  aggregation 
develop  together,  and  the  normal  group  is  a  product  of 
complicated  processes.  Intermarriage  and  propagation  go 
on  among  the  congregated ;  emigration  and  congregation 
go  on  among  the  propagated.  Genetic  aggregations  receive 
accessions  of  strangers ;  they  are  broken  in  upon  and  modi¬ 
fied  by  congregation. 

The  complication  is  a  result  of  endless  adaptations  and 
survivals  in  the  evolution  of  life.  Not  only  has  congre¬ 
gation  apart  from  genetic  grouping  no  self-perpetuating 
power,  but  probably  genetic  aggregation  could  not  continue 
if  it  were  never  reinforced  and  modified  by  congregation. 
The  vicissitudes  in  which  isolated  groups  may  perish  are 
many.  There  is  also  reason  to  believe  that  without  some 
intermingling  of  unlike  elements  and  occasional  inter¬ 
breeding,  the  line  of  descent  would  end  through  physi¬ 
ological  degeneration. 

Cultures  of  no  less  than  twenty  different  species  of 
infusoria,  made  with  extreme  care  by  E.  Maupas,  of 
Algeria,  “  were  maintained  during  periods  of  time  varying 
in  different  cases  from  two  weeks  to  between  four  and  five 
months.  He  found  that  after  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
generations  had  been  produced  by  fission,  there  was  clear 
evidence  of  a  physiological  decline,  which  seemed  to  indi¬ 
cate  the  approaching  extinction  of  the  culture.  He  with¬ 
drew  some  of  the  infusoria  from  the  culture  and  allowed 
them  to  mix  with  others  of  a  different  origin.  With  these 
they  conjugated,  and  their  full  vigour  seemed  restored.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  conjugated  among  themselves, 
observation  showed  that  decline  was  so  far  advanced  that 


96 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


the  culture  was  doomed.” 1  The  evidence  that  close  inter¬ 
breeding  is  injurious  to  animals  and  to  men  is  familiar, 
and  is  generally  accepted  as  conclusive.  It  is  certain 
that  natural  selection,  on  the  whole,  favours  stocks  that 
have  been  produced  by  the  crossing  of  elements  different 
but  not  widely  unlike. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  congregation  which  mixes 
with  genetic  grouping  must  be  of  individuals  wholly 
unrelated  through  a  common  ancestry.  In  modern  stock- 
breeding  new  varieties  are  frequently  produced  from  a 
single  parent  pair,  and  the  successive  generations  of  prog¬ 
eny  are  perfectly  vigorous.  But  in  these  cases  breeding 
from  males  and  females  of  the  same  parentage  is  not  usual 
after  the  first  generation.  Subsequent  generations  are 
produced  by  the  union  of  individuals  that  have  become 
somewhat  remotely  related,  and  are  living  apart,  under 
more  or  less  unlike  conditions  of  food  and  care. 

Because  genetic  and  congregate  aggregation  must  de¬ 
velop  together  a  population  always  has  a  demotic  com¬ 
position.  By  this  is  meant  an  intermingling  of  elements 
bred  of  different  parent  stocks,  and  reared  in  different  situ¬ 
ations,  and  having,  therefore,  unlike  qualities  and  habits. 

Such  a  thing  as  a  purely  homogeneous  population  was 
never  known. 

In  the  lowest  savage  hordes  an  intermixture  of  elements 
is  kept  up,  not  only  by  the  restless  wandering  of  families 
from  camp  to  camp,  but  by  the  habitual  stealing  of  women, 
and  by  the  frequent  desertion  of  women  from  one  band  to 
another.  Mr.  Lumholtz,  while  living  recently  among  the 
Blackfellows  of  northern  Queensland,  a  people  whose 
culture  he  thinks  “  must  be  characterized  as  the  lowest  to 
be  found  among  the  whole  genus  homo  sapiens ,”  observed 

1  Gardiner:  “  Weismann  and  Maupas  on  the  Origin  of  Death”; 
“  Biological  Lectures  Delivered  at  the  Marine  Biological  Laboratory  of 
Wood’s  Holl,  1890,”  p.  121. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


97 


all  of  these  various  modes  of  intermingling,  as  others  had 
observed  them  among  hardly  less  degraded  savages  else¬ 
where.  “When  a  camp  is  broken  up,”  he  says,  “those  who 
wish  to  follow,  do  so ;  those  who  prefer  to  go  somewhere 
else  or  to  remain,  take  their  choice.” 1  “  The  robbery  of 

women,  who  also  among  these  savages  are  regarded  as  a 
man’s  most  valuable  property,  is  both  the  grossest  and  the 
most  common  theft ;  for  it  is  the  usual  way  of  getting  a 
wife.” 2  At  the  “  borboby,”  a  meeting  where  the  blacks 
assemble  from  many  “  lands  ”  to  decide  their  disputes  by 
combat,  an  interchange  of  women  is  always  an  important 
incident.  “  The  women  gather  up  the  weapons,  and  when 
a  warrior  has  to  engage  in  several  duels,  his  wives  continu¬ 
ally  supply  him  with  weapons.  The  other  women  stand 
and  look  on,  watching  the  conflict  with  the  greatest  atten¬ 
tion,  for  they  have  much  at  stake.  Many  a  one  changes 
husbands  on  that  night.  As  the  natives  frequently  rob 
each  other  of  their  wives,  the  conflicts  arising  from  this 
cause  are  settled  by  the  borboby,  the  victor  retaining  the 
woman.”  3  “  There  was  not  much  sleep  that  night,”  he 

writes  of  one  such  occasion  in  particular,  “and  conversa¬ 
tion  was  lively  round  the  small  camp-fires.  As  a  result 
of  the  borboby  several  family  revolutions  had  already 
taken  place,  men  had  lost  their  wives,  and  women  had 
acquired  new  husbands.”  4  Yet,  subject  to  the  will  of  her 
husband  as  the  Australian  woman  usually  is,  “  many 
instances  are  still  to  be  found  where  she  has  refused  to  sub¬ 
mit  to  her  fate  and  has  taken  flight.  She  may  also  have 
some  one  whom  she  adores,  and  a  woman  frequently  runs 
away  to  a  person  she  loves,  although  she  risks  punishment ; 
she  may  even  be  maimed  by  her  husband  if  he  ever  gets 
hold  of  her  again.”5 

In  the  more  highly  organized  tribal  societies  marriage 

1  Lumholtz,  “  Among  Cannibals,”  p.  177. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  126. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  124. 


*  Ibid.,  p.  127. 
6  Ibid. ,  p.  162. 


H 


98 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


usually  is  between  persons  of  different  clans.  Another 
cause  of  intermixture  in  these  societies  is  the  frequent 
adoption  of  captives. 

When  a  population  that  has  become  attached  to  a  par¬ 
ticular  territory  is  overwhelmed  by  invaders  intermixture 
usually  takes  place.  The  conquered  are  rarely  extermi¬ 
nated,  but  survive  side  by  side  with  the  conquerors,  at  first 
often  as  their  slaves  or  serfs,  but  ultimately  as  their  equals, 
with  whom  they  mingle  and  intermarry.  Sometimes,  how¬ 
ever,  the  conquered  survive  but  do  not  mingle  with  the 
dominant  race.  There  are  still  in  the  United  States, 
mostly  on  reservations,  248,253  Indians. 

It  is  the  ceaseless  emigration  of  individuals,  however, 
that  creates  in  modern  civil  communities  a  demotic  com¬ 
position  on  the  greatest  scale.  In  the  United  States  there 
were  in  1890,  9,249,547  foreign-born  inhabitants.  Since 
1820,  15,427,657  immigrants,  drawn  by  the  life  opportu¬ 
nities  that  are  here  offered,  have  come  to  this  country  from 
England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  Germany,  Norway,  Sweden, 
Italy,  and  other  lands.  Besides  all  these  diverse  elements 
the  United  States  has  7,470,040  negroes. 

In  the  distribution  of  native  and  foreign  born  elements 
no  peculiarity  of  situation,  industry,  government,  or  faith 
prevents  the  normal  intermingling.  Thus  in  Utah  it  was 
found  in  1880  that  69.5  per  cent  of  the  population  of  that 
territory  was  born  within  the  United  States,  that  13.7  per 
cent  had  come  from  England,  5.4  per  cent  from  Denmark, 
2.6  from  Sweden,  2.2  from  Scotland,  1.7  from  Wales,  .9 
from  Ireland,  .8  from  Norway,  .7  from  Switzerland,  .7 
from  British  North  America,  .6  from  Germany,  and 
1.2  from  other  countries. 1 

Every  local  community  as  well  as  every  country  shows 
this  heterogeneity  of  population,  and  every  great  city 

1  Tenth  Census,  Part  I.,  pp.  492-495.  I  use  the  figures  of  1880  instead 
of  those  of  1890,  because  at  the  earlier  date  the  population  was  still  under 
normal  Mormon  influences,  undisturbed  by  anti-polygamy  legislation. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


99 


shows  it  conspicuously.  .In  each  1000  inhabitants  of  Lon¬ 
don,  630  are  natives  of  that  city ;  307  are  from  other  parts 
of  England  and  Wales ;  21  are  from  Ireland;  21  are  from 
foreign  countries ;  13  are  from  Scotland ;  7  are  from  the 
colonies,  and  1  is  from  the  islands  in  the  British  seas.1 
But  no  demotic  composition,  modern  or  ancient,  can  be 
compared  with  that  of  New  York  City.  Within  that  part 
of  New  York  City  which  is  included  in  New  York  County 
(the  census  division)  the  composition  of  the  639,943  for¬ 
eign  born  is  as  follows  :  natives  of  Canada  and  Newfound¬ 
land,  8398  ;  of  South  America  471 ;  of  Cuba  and  the  West 
Indies,  2202 ;  of  Ireland,  190,418  ;  of  England,  35,907  ;  of 
Scotland,  11,242;  of  Wales,  965;  of  Germany,  210,723; 
of  Austria,  27,193  ;  of  Holland,  1384  ;  of  Belgium,  626 ;  of 
Switzerland,  4953;  of  Norway,  1575 ;  of  Sweden,  7069 ;  of 
Denmark,  1495;  of  Russia,  48,790;  of  Hungary,  12,222; 
of  Bohemia,  8099;  of  Poland,  6759;  of  France,  10,535; 
of  Italy,  39,951 ;  of  Spain,  887 ;  of  China,  2048 ;  of  Aus¬ 
tralia,  342 ;  of  European  countries  not  specified  3664  ;  born 
at  sea,  135;  natives  of  all  other  countries,  1890. 2  Next 
after  New  York,  Chicago,  perhaps,  contains  the  most  inter¬ 
esting  admixture  of  nationalities.  A  map  of  the  region 
bounded  by  Polk,  State,  Twelfth,  and  Halsted  streets,  pre¬ 
pared  by  the  residents  of  Hull  House,  shows  eighteen 
nationalities  living  in  1894  within  that  district,  one  mile 
long  by  one-third  of  a  mile  wide.3 

Nevertheless,  all  communities  except  colonies  and  new 
cities  in  the  first  or  second  generation  of  their  existence  are 
perpetuated  mainly  by  their  birth  rates  rather  than  by  im¬ 
migration.  A  population  or  a  group,  therefore, is  normally 
autogenous.  By  far  the  larger  proportion  of  the  63,000,000 
inhabitants  of  the  United  States  have  been  born  within 
her  territorial  limits.  By  far  the  greater  proportion  of 

1  Longstaff,  “  Studies  in  Statistics,”  p.  174. 

2  “  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  II.,  pp.  604,  606. 

8  “  Hull  House  Maps  and  Papers.” 


100 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


them  have  in  their  veins  some  admixture,  at  least,  of  the 
blood  of  the  colonists  and  of  those  Europeans  who  came 
to  America  before  1821.  In  like  manner,  while  there  is 
an  increasing  mobility  of  population  from  state  to  state, 
from  country  to  city,  and  from  town  to  town,  each  local 
community  is  perpetuated  mainly  by  its  birth-rate.  New 
York  City  had  in  1890,  875,358  native-born  inhabitants 
to  overbalance  her  639,943  foreign-born.1  The  population 
of  Greater  London  was  increased  during  the  ten  years 
1871-80  by  574,385  births  in  excess  of  deaths,  and  by 
306,635  accessions  from  without  in  excess  of  emigration.2 
The  same  relation  of  natural  increase  to  immigration  is 
true  of  other  cities,  of  smaller  towns,  and  of  all  countries, 
though  the  proportions,  of  course,  vary  indefinitely.  It  is 
true  of  barbarous  and  savage  tribes  and  of  animal  herds. 

A  true  conception  of  aggregation  as  the  physical  basis 
of  natural  society  has  now  been  disclosed.  An  enlarged 
family  which  includes  no  adopted  members  is  not  properly 
to  be  called  a  society,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word  ; 
neither  is  a  temporary  congregation  of  unrelated  individu¬ 
als.  In  the  population  of  the  true  natural  society  there 
must  be  genetic  aggregation  and  congregation ;  there 
must  be  an  admixture  of  elements  and  a  self-perpetuat¬ 
ing  power,  demotic  composition,  and  autogeny. 

Aggregation  is  always  supplemented  by  association  if 
the  assembled  individuals  are  not  too  unlike  in  kind. 

Aggregation  is  but  the  physical  foundation  of  society. 
True  association  is  a  psychical  process  that  begins  in 
simple  phases  of  feeling  and  perception,  and  develops, 
through  many  complications,  into  activities  that  ulti¬ 
mately  call  forth  the  highest  powers  of  the  mind. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  prove  that  social  intercourse  is  a 
mode  of  conflict.  All  activity  is  a  clash  of  atoms  or  of 

1  “Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  I.,  p.  664. 

*  Longstaff,  “Studies  in  Statistics,”  p.  177. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


101 


thoughts,  and  the  scientific  man  does  not  need  to  waste  his 
time  in  disputing  with  those  who  look  for  the  elimination 
of  strife  from  human  affairs.  It  is  desirable,  however, 
to  examine  the  special  forms  of  conflict  that  enter  into 
association. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  evolution  the  modes  of 
conflict  must  be  distinguished  as  primary  and  secondary. 
Primary  conflict  is  conquest.  It  is  a  conflict  violent 
enough  to  overcome  the  independent  motion,  and  often  to 
destroy  the  cohesion,  of  one,  at  least,  of  the  conflicting 
bodies.  Secondary  conflict  is  contention.  It  is  a  conflict 
relatively  so  slight  that  the  conflicting  bodies  only  modify 
each  other’s  motions  and  states.  Evolution  begins  in  a 
primary  conflict,  the  effect  of  which  is  integration,  and 
completes  itself  in  a  secondary  conflict,  the  effect  of  which 
is  differentiation. 

When,  for  example,  freely  moving  masses  of  matter  come 
within  range  of  a  more  potent  mass,  they  are  irresistibly 
drawn  to  it,  as  meteoric  bodies  to  the  earth,  and  forever 
lose  their  identity  in  it.  The  phenomenon  is  primary 
conflict  and  integration.  The  energy  liberated  by  the 
collision  expends  itself  in  minor  conflicts  and  rearrange¬ 
ments  among  the  disturbed  molecules  of  the  enlarged 
mass  and  between  the  mass  and  environing  bodies  :  in 
its  swift  course  through  the  air  the  meteorite  becomes 
incandescent,  and  it  is  partly  or  wholly  resolved  into 
chemical  elements  which  enter  into  terrestrial  combina¬ 
tions.  This  phenomenon  is  secondary  conflict  and  differen¬ 
tiation.  Obviously  the  secondary  conflict  can  occur  only 
in  consequence  of  the  primary. 

Organic  evolution  affords  yet  better  examples.  The 
organic  matter  of  an  animal  body  is  composed  of  the 
substance  of  vanquished  organisms  which  were  engaged, 
throughout  their  little  day,  in  a  life  and  death  struggle 
with  other  organisms,  until  at  last  they  met  their  own 
conqueror  and  were  devoured  and  assimilated.  Animal 


102 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


life  continues  but  by  consuming  life,  and  from  this  law 
there  is  no  deliverance.  Yet,  from  the  primary  conflict 
of  conquest  and  death,  follow  the  secondary  and  minor 
conflicts  that  constitute  development,  and  from  which 
emerges  consciousness,  with  its  states  of  pain  and  pleasure. 
Pain  is  the  concomitant  of  injury  and  dissolution  in  the 
primary  conflict,  or  of  over-stimulation  in  either  conflict. 
Pleasure  is  the  normal  concomitant  of  the  mild  stimulation 
of  the  secondary  conflict,  and  of  its  resultant  adaptations. 

Primary  conflict  is  possible  only  between  bodies  that 
are  unequal  in  energy.  Among  organic  bodies  it  normally 
occurs  only  between  organisms  that  are  unlike  in  kind, 
because  inequalities  of  strength  are  on  the  whole  pro¬ 
portional  to  differences  of  organization.  Therefore  the 
active  relations  of  aggregated  individuals  of  the  same 
species  are  normally  those  of  the  mild  secondary  conflict, 
and  normally  they  are  pleasurable.  Yet,  since  the  sec¬ 
ondary  modes  of  conflict  are  consequences  of  the  primary 
modes,  social  intercourse  is  possible  only  to  a  race  that 
keeps  alive  the  instincts  and  the  habits  of  conquest. 
Therefore  all  social  intercourse,  however  gracious  and 
refined  it  may  be,  is  shadowed  by  potential  tragedy,  and 
will  be  shadowed  by  it  to  the  end  of  time. 

All  conflicts,  whether  primary  or  secondary,  consist  of 
two  factors.  There  is  an  impact  or  attack.  There  is  a 
counter-impact  or  counter-attack.  Each  of  the  conflict¬ 
ing  bodies  acts  as  the  other  acts,  because  the  action  of 
each  is  determined  by  the  action  of  the  other.  When  two 
billiard-balls  strike  together,  each  necessarily  strikes  back 
as  it  has  been  struck.  When  a  boy  is  hit  by  an  angry 
playmate,  he  instantly  hits  back  unless  the  motor  impulse 
is  inhibited  by  fear  or  by  conscious  will.  The  action  is 
largely  reflex,  and  to  that  extent  it  is  essentially  like  the 
reimpact  of  the  billiard-ball,  although  the  mechanism  and 
the  process  are  immeasurably  more  complex.  When  one 
person  says  to  another  :  “  You  lie,”  he  may  get  a  drubbing, 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


103 


but  the  probabilities  are  that  he  will  first  get  the  reply, 
“  You  lie  yourself.”  When  two  men  contend,  each  instinc¬ 
tively  copies  the  blows  of  the  other  :  if  one  varies  the 
blows,  it  is  by  accident  or  by  the  intervention  of  reason. 
When  two  armies  contend,  each  repeats  many  manoeuvres 
of  the  other.  A  conscious  repetition  by  one  individual 
of  any  act  of  another  individual  is  imitation.  Imitation, 
consequently,  is  a  part  of  every  conscious  conflict.  Simi¬ 
larities  of  action,  necessarily  produced  by  the  incidence 
of  physical  forces,  are  the  physical  basis  of  imitation, 
and  are  an  essential  part  of  all  conflicts. 

It  is  now  plain  why  imitation  cannot  be  regarded  as 
the  distinctively  social  phenomenon,  although  it  is  a 
factor  of  all  social  activity.1  Imitation  is  a  part  of  the 
primary  conflict  between  animals  or  men  that  fight  to 
the  death,  no  less  than  of  the  secondary  conflict  which 
continues  among  the  animals  or  the  men  that  are  united 
in  social  relations. 

If  similarity  of  action  is  maintained  long  enough,  how¬ 
ever,  it  creates  a  similarity  of  structure  in  conflicting 
bodies.  Similarity  of  structure,  in  its  turn  reacting  upon 
activity,  modifies  conflict.  The  relatively  mild  modes  of 
conflict  become  yet  milder.  Imitation  has  thus  a  socializ¬ 
ing  tendency.  Although  it  cannot  be  identified  exclu¬ 
sively  with  association,  it  often  prepares  the  way  for 
association  by  creating  a  basis  for  the  consciousness  of 
kind  among  individuals  that  originally  were  much  unlike. 
Because  of  this  modifying  action  of  imitation  all  conscious 
conflict  that  is  long  continued  is  self-refining.  In  social 
intercourse  imitation  continues  indefinitely.  Therefore 
although  social  intercourse  will  always  in  some  degree 
reflect  the  ruthless  egoism  of  the  primary  conflict  on 
which  it  depends,  the  evolution  of  social  intercourse  is 
on  the  whole  a  progressive  refinement  of  the  secondary 
modes  of  conflict. 


1  Cf.  ante ,  page  16. 


104 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


A  scientific  account  of  association  must  begin  with  a 
reference,  at  least,  to  the  psycho-physical  phenomena  of 
meeting,  or  encounter.  The  unexpected  meeting  of  long- 
parted  friends  has  sometimes  caused  death.  Such  occur¬ 
rences  prove  that  meeting  is  a  nervous  shock,  that  it  is 
beyond  question  a  mode  of  conflict.  Ordinarily  the  con¬ 
flicts  of  molecules  and  of  feelings  that  constitute  the 
sensations  and  perceptions  of  meeting  are  infinitesimal 
in  magnitude,  but,  even  then,  they  often  determine  the 
permanent  character  of  association.  Touch  may  cause 
a  thrill  of  pleasure,  or  a  shudder.  Odour  may  please, 
or  offend.  The  image  of  another  on  the  retina  may  de¬ 
light  or  pain.  The  voice  from  a  distance  may  charm,  or 
it  may  irritate.  It  is  extremely  improbable  that  the  first 
sensations  of  acquaintance  are  ever  eradicated. 

Perception  begins  in  impressions  of  unlikeness.  Like¬ 
ness  can  be  distinguished  from  absolute  identity  only 
through  perceptions  of  difference,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  known  until  after  some  degree  of  unlikeness  is  appre¬ 
hended.  Moreover,  consciousness  itself  exists  only  where 
there  is  a  disturbance  of  equilibrium  in  the  sensitive 
matter  of  its  physical  basis,  and  the  disturbance  can  be 
caused  only  by  differences  among  stimuli. 

The  sociological  consequences  of  these  elementary  facts 
of  psychology  are  of  no  small  moment.  The  evolution 
of  the  consciousness  of  kind  can  go  on  only  as  fast  as 
discriminations  of  differences  of  kind  are  made;  the 
sense  of  difference  therefore  is  first  present  in  the  mind 
to  be  overcome  by  any  growing  sense  of  similarity. 
Impressions  of  unlikeness  are  apt  also  to  be  more  pro¬ 
found  than  impressions  of  likeness,  because,  within  limits, 
the  greater  the  nervous  disturbance  the  more  distinct  is 
the  consciousness;  therefore  living  creatures  that  are  un¬ 
like  one’s  self,  by  their  approach  and  contact  create  a 
psycho-physical  disturbance  that  is  greater  than  that 
which  is  produced  by  creatures  that  are  like  one’s  self. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


105 


From  these  conditions  of  mental  life  it  follows  that  at¬ 
tention  is  at  all  times  much  occupied  with  the  differences 
between  one’s  self  and  one’s  fellow-beings,  and  with  the 
non-resemblances  among  one’s  own  and  other  species,  and 
that,  in  any  first  meeting  of  animals  or  men,  any  real  un¬ 
likeness  does  not  fail  to  make  an  instant  impression. 
Among  animals  the  appearance  of  the  stranger  creates 
excitement.  The  human  sojourner  in  a  strange  land  at 
first  exaggerates  the  differences  between  himself  and  the 
people  with  whom  he  mingles.  A  first  walk  through  the 
East-side  streets  of  New  York  or  the  West-side  streets  of 
Chicago  leaves  only  a  painful  impression  of  seemingly 
irreconcilable  differences  of  nationality,  which  yields  but 
slowly  to  the  perception  of  a  common  humanity.  In  a 
nation  that  has  an  admixture  of  many  races  and  nation¬ 
alities  in  its  demotic  composition  the  strong  sense  of 
dissimilarity  long  remains  as  an  obstacle  to  complete 
assimilation. 

If  impressions  of  unlikeness  were  never  converted  into 
impressions  of  likeness,  all  the  psychological  phenomena 
of  aggregations  would  be  dispersive,  and  there  could  be 
no  society.  It  is,  therefore,  of  deep  interest  to  know  how 
generally  the  possibility  of  forming  impressions  of  likeness 
of  kind  exists;  to  ascertain  how  far  down  in  the  scale  of 
animal  life  the  first  impressions  of  dissimilarity  are  habitu¬ 
ally  converted,  through  further  discriminations  and  com¬ 
binations,  into  impressions  of  similarity  of  kind  whenever 
sentient  organisms  that  are  in  fact  alike,  are  brought  into 
contact. 

There  is  no  animal  species  that  makes  conscious  discrim¬ 
inations  of  any  kind  in  which  both  sets  of  impressions 
have  not  made  their  appearance.  While  in  the  order  of 
psychogenesis  difference  is  known  before  similarity,  and 
while  possibly  in  most  individuals  and  in  most  species  the 
impressions  of  unlikeness  are  slightly  more  pronounced 
than  those  of  likeness,  the  sense  of  likeness  has  been  ac 


106 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


quired  by  the  time  that  the  external  evidences  of  any 
power  of  discrimination  have  become  apparent  to  the 
observer.  The  amoeba,  the  lowest  creature  known,  a 
mere  bit  of  structureless  sarcode,  without  stomach,  limbs, 
or  organs  of  sense,  has  its  favourite  foods,  and  makes 
curious  selections.  It  draws  into  itself  a  diatom  shell 
containing  a  living  diatom,  but  knows  and  refuses  an 
empty  shell.  It  appropriates  not  only  diatoms,  desmids, 
and  other  forms  of  vegetable  food,  but  also  such  animal 
forms  as  rotifers,  but  it  does  not  devour  its  fellow-amoebse. 
It  shows  in  many  ways  that  it  knows  the  difference  be¬ 
tween  fellow-amoebae  and  other  objects.1 

This  knowledge,  the  beginning  of  those  discriminations 
from  which  social  relations  are  evolved,  is  not  difficult,  I 
think,  to  account  for.  The  amoeba  projects  its  body  sub¬ 
stance  in  pseudopodia,  and,  in  so  doing,  assumes  endless 
varieties  of  form.  The  pseudopodia  grasp  and  draw  in  food 
objects.  Frequently  they  come  in  contact  with  each  other. 
Instantly  a  double  feeling  arises  :  the  simultaneous  feel¬ 
ing  of  touching  and  of  being  touched.  The  creature  thus 
learns  to  associate  a  certain  touch  with  itself.  It  knows 
the  “feel”  of  external  contact  with  its  own  substance. 
This  feeling  it  does  not  associate  with  nutrition,  because, 
even  if  one  pseudopodium  coalesces  with  another,  a  body 
cannot  nourish  itself  by  absorbing  itself.  Accordingly, 
when,  at  a  subsequent  time,  it  comes  in  contact  with 
another  amoeba,  and  experiences  feelings  of  touch  like 
those  experienced  in  touching  itself,  it  recognizes  the 
creature  as  an  object  like  itself  and  therefore  as  not 
food. 

In  like  manner  the  earthworm,  by  doubling  and  coil¬ 
ing  upon  itself,  learns  to  know  the  “feel”  of  its  own 
substance,  and  to  know  the  difference  between  fellow- 
creatures  of  its  own  kind  and  all  other  things  ;  and  in- 

1  See  Joseph  Leidy,  “Fresh  Water  Rhizopods  of  North  America,” 
United  States  Geological  Survey,  Vol.  XII. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION. 


107 


sects,  through  the  contact  of  their  legs  and  wings,  and 
particularly  of  their  antennse,  acquire  the  same  knowl¬ 
edge.1 

It  is  possible  that  the  amoeba’s  acts  of  apparent  discrim¬ 
ination  are  essentially  physiological  rather  than  psychical 
phenomena.  But  if  so  they  are  at  least  actions  that  are 
shading  into  psychical  phenomena,  and  the  similar  actions 
of  creatures  a  little  higher  in  the  scale  are  unquestionably 
psychical.  The  only  point  that  I  wish  to  insist  on  is  that 
at  whatever  stage  in  organic  evolution  true  discrimination 
of  any  sort  begins,  a  recognition  of  kind  begins.  No  other 
discrimination  of  sociological  significance  is  of  equal  gen¬ 
erality,  and  this  is  the  conclusive  proof  of  the  truth  of  my 
contention  that  the  consciousness  of  kind  is  the  primordial 
subjective  fact  in  social  phenomena. 

Even  among  the  higher  animals  that  can  distinguish 
their  own  and  other  species  by  sight  and  hearing,  and 
among  mankind,  touch  survives  as  a  fundamental  test 
which  is  over  and  over  again  resorted  to  in  obedience  to 
an  unconquerable  instinct  or  habit.  Horses,  cattle,  sheep, 
and  dogs  perfect  acquaintance  by  touching  and  rubbing 
one  another.  The  embrace,  the  hand-clasp,  and  the  kiss 
are  survivals  of  the  primitive  way  of  making  and  renew¬ 
ing  acquaintance  among  men  and  women.  They  survive 
because,  as  Guyau  profoundly  observes  :  “  Le  toucher  est 
le  moyen  le  plus  primitif  et  le  plus  sur  de  mettre  en 
communication,  d’harmoniser,  de  socialiser  deux  systemes 
nerveux,  deux  consciences,  deux  vies”;2  because  it  is 
“par  excellence,  le  sens  de  la  vie.”  And  Guyau  very 
truthfully  adds  that  the  mother’s  passionate  pleasure  in 
the  caress  of  her  babe  is  more  than  her  love  of  a  frail  and 

1  I  first  put  forth  this  hypothesis  of  the  origin  of  the  consciousness  of 
kind  in  the  paper  on  “  Sociology  and  the  Abstract  Sciences  :  The  Origin 
of  the  Social  Feelings,”  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political 
and  Social  Science ,  Yol.  V.,  No.  5,  March,  1895. 

2  Guyau,  “L’art  au  point  de  vue  sociologique,”  p.  3. 


108 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


helpless  thing  with  which  Mr.  Spencer  identifies  it ;  it  is 
her  sense  rather  of  the  “  profound  harmony  ”  of  its  body 
with  her  own. 

In  a  majority  of  instances  the  impressions  of  meeting 
are  confused.  Impressions  of  difference  and  impressions 
of  likeness  are  so  mingled  that  the  mind  is  left  in  doubt 
about  the  degree  of  resemblance,  and  desires  a  more 
perfect  knowledge.  This  is  the  original  motive  of  all 
communication. 

The  expression  of  conscious  states  by  means  of  attitude, 
muscular  movement,  and  utterance  is  a  language  common 
to  animals  and  men.  In  the  presence  of  a  fellow-being 
all  physical  manifestations  of  feeling  undergo  involuntary 
change  in  accordance  with  the  internal  attitude  of  aggres¬ 
sion  or  of  shrinking.  The  quick  interpretation  of  such 
changes  is  the  judgment  of  kind  in  its  first  stage.  Among 
the  more  highly  endowed  animals,  this  preliminary  judg¬ 
ment  is  at  once  verified  or  corrected  by  a  more  deliber¬ 
ate  and  varied  communication,  as  when  two  strange  dogs, 
before  concluding  to  fight  or  to  make  friends,  eye  and  sniff 
each  other,  show  teeth,  growl,  and  express  perhaps  a  dozen 
changing  shades  of  feeling  and  conviction  by  movements 
of  the  head  and  neck,  haunches  and  tail.  A  very  dog¬ 
like  communication  sometimes  occurs  between  human 
beings.  Describing  an  amusing  encounter  between  two 
Bowditch  Island  bo}7^,  Mr.  J.  J.  Lister  writes:  “I  saw 
two  boys  quarrelling,  which  was  not  an  uncommon  event. 
The  matter  did  not  come  to  blows.  They  stood  perfectly 
still  some  distance  apart,  looking  at  one  another  under 
lowering  brows  for  several  seconds.  Then  a  quick 
threatening  movement  on  one  side  would  be  responded 
to  by  a  defiant  one  on  the  other,  and  then  followed  an¬ 
other  spell  of  mutual  inspection.  These  became  longer 
and  longer,  and  the  threatening  movement  less  and 
less  energetic,  until  each  went  his  own  way  and  the 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


109 


whole  was  over.  The  whole  was  conducted  in  perfect 
silence.” 1 

Usually,  however,  human  communication  exhausts  the 
resources  of  speech  before  the  basis  of  association  is  finally 
established.  It  extends  to  a  comparison  of  genealogies, 
of  personal  experiences,  tastes,  beliefs,  and  ambitions. 
We  cherish  the  illusion  that  we  converse  because  we  care 
for  the  things  that  we  talk  about,  just  as  we  cherish  that 
most  delightful  of  all  illusions,  the  belief  in  art  for  art’s 
sake.  The  truth,  however,  is  that  all  expression,  by  the 
dolt  or  by  the  artist,  and  all  communication,  from  the 
casual  talk  of  acquaintanceship  to  the  deepest  intimacies 
of  a  perfect  love,  have  their  source  in  the  elemental  pas¬ 
sion  to  impress  and  to  know  one  another,  and  to  define 
the  consciousness  of  kind. 

When  communication  is  indefinitely  continued,  associa¬ 
tion  may  fairly  be  said  to  be  established.  Association 
implies  that  communication  has  satisfied  the  meeting  in¬ 
dividuals  that  they  are  too  much  alike  for  either  to  attempt 
to  conquer  the  other.  But  it  does  not  necessarily  imply 
that  the  secondary  conflict  which  must  continue  among 
them  will  always  be  sympathetic  and  pleasurable.  In  a 
population  of  mixed  elements,  such  as  congregation  often 
brings  together,  contention  is  liable  to  be  harsh  or  even 
bitter  during  a  long  period  of  assimilation. 

It  is  the  factor  of  imitation  in  the  conflict  that  gradu¬ 
ally  assimilates  and  harmonizes.  Characteristic  modes 
of  thought  and  action  spread  from  each  individual,  as 
waves  from  a  centre  of  disturbance,  and  for  a  like  reason. 
The  undulation  of  a  group  of  particles  is  a  blow  that  sets 
adjoining  particles  in  motion.  They  in  turn  necessarily 
set  yet  other  particles  in  motion,  and  so  the  wave  is  prop¬ 
agated  until  it  is  shattered  by  a  counter-wave  or  is  com- 

1  “  Notes  on  the  Natives  of  Fakaofu,”  Journal  of  the  Anthropological 
Institute ,  Vol.  XXI.,  p.  49,  August,  1891. 


110 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


bined  with  a  synchronizing  wave.  In  like  manner,  any 
act  or  expression  is  a  stimulus  to  the  nerve  centres  that 
perceive  or  understand  it.  Unless  their  action  is  inhib¬ 
ited  by  the  will,  or  by  counter-stimulation,  they  must 
discharge  themselves  in  movements  that  must  more  or  less 
closely  copy  the  originals.  Thus  one  individual  neces¬ 
sarily  imitates  another,  and  a  third  necessarily  imitates 
the  imitator,  and  so  on  until  the  will  or  an  interference  of 
imitations  brings  the  process  to  an  end.  This,  however, 
will  not  normally  happen  if  the  action  imitated  is  pleas¬ 
urable  and  is  obviously  conducive  to  development  and  sur¬ 
vival.  It  then  will  be  consciously  repeated,  and  for  thou¬ 
sands  of  years  conscious  imitations  may  extend  through 
populations  numbered  by  millions.  Modern  civilization 
is  the  continuing  imitation  of  Greece  and  Rome ;  an 
imitation  that  was  established  in  Germanic  Europe  by 
Charlemagne,  that  was  carried  to  England  by  William 
the  Conqueror  and  to  America  by  Columbus,  and  that 
now  is  being  spread  by  Russia  and  England  through¬ 
out  Asia,  Australia,  and  Oceanica.1 

Undulations  from  centres  of  strong  disturbance  over¬ 
come  or  harmonize  the  undulations  from  lesser  centres. 
The  imitation  of  examples  in  any  way  remarkable  always 
tends  to  overcome  or  to  combine  all  lesser  imitations.  It 
is  a  struggle  for  existence  among  imitations.  For  exam¬ 
ple,  the  first  use  of  any  newly  discovered  food  or  stimu¬ 
lant  is  imitated,  but  in  each  population  a  majority  of  such 
imitations  die  out  or  become  occasional,  while  one  or  two 
become  almost  universal.  The  Scotch  consumption  of 
whiskey,  the  German  of  beer,  and  the  Chinese  of  opium, 
are  good  illustrations.  Yet  better,  because  more  special, 
are  the  Spanish  devotion  to  the  cigarette,  the  German  to 
the  large  pipe,  the  Irish  to  the  clay  pipe,  and  the  Ameri¬ 
can  to  the  cigar.  In  like  manner  certain  patterns  and 
colours  of  clothing,  certain  methods  of  building,  certain 
1  Cf.  Tarde,  “  Lea  lois  de  1’ imitation,”  p.  23. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


111 


forms  of  speech,  particular  amusements,  beliefs  and  observ¬ 
ances,  and  even  peculiar  crimes,  show  an  astonishing  power 
to  fascinate.  They  spread  and  persist  while  other  forms 
are  quickly  forgotten. 

In  every  population,  therefore,  there  is  always  to  be 
observed  a  general  approach  to  certain  persistent  types 
of  action,  expression,  and  character.  This  is  the  social¬ 
izing  process  in  its  most  subtle  and  efficacious  mode.  It 
is  this  that  ultimately  blends  the  diverse  elements  of  the 
most  heterogeneous  population  into  a  homogeneous  type. 
It  creates  a  common  speech,  common  modes  of  thought, 
and  common  standards  of  living.  By  destroying  or  soft¬ 
ening  many  original  differences  of  speech,  belief,  and 
practice  it  promotes  intermarriage.  It  is  this  that  will 
gradually  assimilate  all  the  foreign-born  elements  in  the 
population  of  the  United  States  to  a  persistent  American 
type. 

Imitation,  nevertheless,  while  it  softens  old  conflicts 
creates  new  ones. 

Imitations  are  never  perfect.  Like  waves  of  light, 
they  are  refracted  by  their  media.1  A  word  adopted 
from  one  language  into  another  is  never  quite  the  same 
word  that  it  was  in  the  original.  Grimm’s  and  Ray- 
nouard’s  laws  are  laws  of  the  refraction  of  imitation. 
Myths  also,  and  religions,  laws,  and  arts  are  modified 
as  they  pass  from  one  race  or  nation  to  another.  On 
a  lesser  scale  imitations  are  modified  as  they  pass  from 
individual  to  individual.  Like  all  things  else  in  the  uni¬ 
verse,  therefore,  imitations  become  differentiated. 

Consequently  it  happens  that  in  every  individual  mind, 
as  in  every  individual  population,  there  is  a  conflict  of 
imitations.  Sometimes  the  conflict  is  a  conquest,  or,  as 
M.  Tarde  calls  it,  a  duel,  and  one  of  the  antagonistic  imi¬ 
tations  is  destroyed.  But  sometimes  the  conflict  results 
in  a  combination,  as  when  two  synchronous  waves  unite 
1  Cf.  Tarde,  “Les  lois  de  limitation,”  p.  24. 


112 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


in  a  complex  and  stronger  wave.  This,  as  M.  Tarde  has 
shown,1  is  the  essence  of  invention.  It  is  the  creation 
of  a  new  idea  and  a  new  practice,  by  a  combination  of 
familiar  ideas  and  of  current  practices.  It  is  the  psy¬ 
chological  phenomenon  that  is  analogous  to  the  union  of 
parent  elements  in  a  new  organism  that  differs  from  both 
parents. 

Thus  new  examples  are  all  the  while  coming  into  exist¬ 
ence  to  struggle  against  the  established  imitations.  Imi¬ 
tations  that  have  come  down  from  the  past  M.  Tarde  calls 
custom-imitations.  The  best  examples  are  found  in  the 
simpler  arts  of  utility,  in  language,  and  in  law.  The 
imitations  of  new  examples  he  calls  mode-imitations. 
Fashions,  “crazes,”  fads,  revivals,  and  revolutions  are 
mode-imitations.2  Between  custom-imitations  and  mode- 
imitations  there  is  a  ceaseless  struggle.  Mode-imitation 
begins  with  an  impression  made  by  an  individual  upon 
the  mass  of  individuals.  As  it  sweeps  through  the  popu¬ 
lation  it  becomes  an  impression  of  the  mass  upon  every 
one.  The  influence  of  an  individual  upon  a  susceptible 
crowd  M.  Tarde  describes  as  hypnotic;  the  influence  of 
a  crowd  upon  a  susceptible  individual  he  describes  as 
intimidative.3  Between  the  individual  who  would  fasci¬ 
nate  the  community  with  a  new  example,  and  the  com¬ 
munity  that  would  follow  ancient  customs  ;  between  the 
crowd  that  would  intimidate  with  a  craze  and  the  indi¬ 
vidual  who  would  sanely  resist,  there  is  perpetual  con¬ 
flict. 

Therefore,  while  imitation  on  the  whole  harmonizes  a 
population  and  broadens  the  consciousness  of  kind,  it  also 
to  some  extent  differentiates  and  antagonizes. 

1  “Les  lois  de  limitation,”  pp.  26-36,  and  “La  logique  sociale,” 
Chap.  IV. 

2  Ibid.,  pp.  267-279. 

3  “Etudes  pfinales  et  sociales,”  Essay  on  “  Les  maladies  de  1’ imitation," 
pp.  357-365. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


113 


In  every  population,  then,  there  remain  persistent  causes 
of  antagonism.  First  of  all  there  are  the  instincts  of 
conquest,  which  are  kept  alive  by  the  necessity  of  destroy¬ 
ing  life  to  maintain  life.  Secondly,  there  are  original 
differences  of  nature  and  habit  that  have  not  yet  been 
blended  or  neutralized  by  the  processes  of  assimilation. 
Thirdly,  there  are  the  secondary  differences  that  continu¬ 
ally  arise  through  the  conflict  of  imitations. 

To  these  must  be  added  an  occasional  cause  that  at 
times  operates  with  terrible  effect.  Ordinarily  the  food 
quest  of  any  group  is  a  rivalry  or  competition  among  the 
members  of  the  group  and  not  a  direct  aggression  upon 
one  another.  Ordinarily  the  perils  that  beset  one  are 
not  to  be  avoided  by  sacrificing  the  life  of  another.  But 
sometimes  dangers  are  encountered  from  which  only  the 
unscrupulous  escape;  and  sometimes  the  agony  of  hunger 
goads  even  the  feeble,  who  are  sure  to  be  repulsed  and 
slain,  into  attempts  to  rob  or  to  kill  and  eat  their  fel¬ 
lows.  Probably  cannibalism  has  everywhere  originated 
in  starvation. 

Antagonism,  however,  is  self-limiting ;  it  necessarily 
terminates  in  the  equilibrium  of  toleration.  The  very 
strong  kill  off  the  very  weak.  The  very  strong,  if  anti¬ 
social,  are  overborne  by  the  numerical  superiority  of  the 
individuals  of  average  power,  and  are  either  killed  or 
driven  into  exile,  as  happens,  for  example,  among  rooks 
and  crows,1  in  herds  of  wild  cattle  2  and  wild  elephants,  and 
in  every  tribe  of  savage  men.3  The  majority  are  too  nearly 
equal  in  strength  for  one  to  hope  to  vanquish  another. 
The  equilibrium  of  strength  is  nevertheless  tested  from 
time  to  time,  and  so  is  maintained,  by  frequent  acts  of 
aggression  and  revenge,  phenomena  which  may  be  wit¬ 
nessed  not  only  among  animals  and  savage  men,  but  also, 

1  Romanes,  “  Animal  Intelligence,”  pp.  322-325. 

2  MacDonald,  “Criminology,”  p.  20. 

3  For  a  typical  example  see  Lumholtz,  “  Among  Cannibals,”  p.  45. 


114 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


unfortunately,  so  frequently  in  civilized  communities  that 
examples  would  be  superfluous.  Toleration  and  justice 
thus  originate  in  force,  and  have  their  permanent  basis 
in  force,  not  in  moral  feeling  or  in  the  conscious  calcu¬ 
lation  of  expediency,  which  in  civilization  have  become 
such  conspicuous  factors  of  justice  as  to  obscure  the  orig¬ 
inal  element.  This  truth  is  now  fully  recognized  by  all 
writers  on  ethics  and  law  who  are  familiar  with  the  results 
of  comparative  jurisprudence.1 

As  soon  as  toleration  is  established  cooperation  and 
alliance  are  possible.  Mutual  aid  begins  unconsciously, 
in  accidental  helpfulness  and  protection.  Natural  selec¬ 
tion  preserves  it,  and  at  length,  when  its  benefits  are  per¬ 
ceived,  it  is  consciously  perpetuated. 

At  first,  mutual  aid,  whether  in  animal  or  in  human 
communities,  is  a  simple  and  momentary  direct  coopera¬ 
tion.  Beetles  among  the  invertebrates,  rats  and  mice 
among  vertebrates,  often  aid  each  other  in  moving  objects 
too  heavy  for  one  to  manage.2  Weak  birds  protect  each 
other  in  nesting  time.3  Among  eider  ducks  several 
females  sit  on  the  same  nest  of  eggs. 

Frequently  these  simple  forms  of  cooperation  are  sys¬ 
tematic.  Fishing  bands  of  pelicans  form  a  half-circle 
across  a  bay  and  drive  the  fish  in  shore.4  Wild  pigs  form 
a  circle  about  their  young  to  resist  the  attacks  of  wolves.5 
Much  of  the  cooperation  among  men  is  of  the  same  simple 
form.  In  sudden  danger  the  Australian  Black  can  count 
on  the  aid  of  every  member  of  his  horde.6  At  regular 

1  See,  e.g.,  Spencer,  “The  Principles  of  Ethics,”  Vol.  II.,  Part  IV., 
Chaps.  I.,  II.,  ai  i  III.;  Letourneau,  “L’ Evolution  juridique,”  Chap.  I.  ; 
Holmes,"  The  Common  Law,"  Lecture  I.,  on  “  Early  Forms  of  Liability  and 
Stephen,  “A  History  of  the  Criminal  Law  of  England,”  Vol.  II.,  pp.  81,  82. 

2  Romanes,  “Animal  Intelligence,”  pp.  226,  227,  360,  361. 

*  Coues,  Bulletin  of  the  United  States  Geological  and  Geographical 
Survey  of  Territories,  Vol.  IV.,  No.  7,  pp.  562,  571. 

4  Romanes,  op.  cit.,  p.  319.  5  ibid.,  p.  339. 

6  Curr,  “The  Australian  Race,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  62. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


115 


times  in  the  autumn  the  Similkameen  Indians  of  British 
Columbia  assemble  for  hunting.  With  their  dogs  they 
scour  the  country  for  miles,  and  drive  the  herds  of  deer 
into  some  mountain  cul-de-sac  for  slaughter.  Equally 
good  examples  from  civilization  are  the  log-rollings,  the 
house-raisings,  and  the  corn-huskings  of  backwoodsmen. 

In  time  such  cooperation  becomes  complex  through  a 
development  of  coordination  and  subordination. 

Cranes  and  parrots  post  sentries  to  watch  while  the 
flock  feeds  and  is  attentive  to  their  warnings.  Before 
starting  to  plunder  a  corn-field  a  band  of  white  cockatoos 
in  Australia  “  send  out  a  reconnoitring  party  which 
occupies  the  highest  trees  in  the  vicinity  of  the  field, 
while  other  scouts  perch  upon  the  intermediate  trees 
between  the  field  and  the  forest  and  transmit  the  signals. 
If  the  report  runs  ‘all  right,’  a  score  of  cockatoos  will 
separate  from  the  bulk  of  the  band,  take  a  flight  in  the 
air,  and  then  fly  towards  the  trees  nearest  to  the  field. 
They  will  also  scrutinize  the  neighbourhood  for  a  long 
while,  and  only  then  will  they  give  the  signal  for  gen¬ 
eral  advance,  after  which  the  whole  band  starts  at  once 
and  plunders  the  field  in  no  time.”  1 

Reindeer,  roebucks,  fallow-deer,  antelopes,  gazelles,  and 
ibexes  show  great  watchfulness  for  the  safety  of  the  herds 
from  attacks  of  carnivora.  They  have  leaders  and  sen¬ 
tinels,  as  do  also  bands  of  elephants,  buffaloes,  horses,  and 
monkeys.  The  leader  of  a  herd  of  elephants  has  been 
seen  to  reconnoitre  a  pool  of  water,  then  cautiously  to 
station  five  sentries  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  finally  to 
collect  and  bring  up  the  herd  of  eighty  or  a  hundred 
elephants.2  A  band  of  baboons  under  the  direction  of  a 
grey-headed  male  will  collect  large  stones  and  other  mis¬ 
siles  and  hurl  them  down  the  mountain  side  with  such 
violence  as  to  repulse  a  party  of  twenty  hunters.3 

i  Kropotkin,  op.  cit.,  p.  353.  2  Romanes,  op.  cit.,  p.  401. 

•  Ibid.,  p.  483. 


116 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Among  savage  men  coordination  is  usually  somewhat 
more  developed  than  it  is  among  animals,  although  excep¬ 
tions  may  be  found.  Among  civilized  men  it  is  as  spon¬ 
taneous  as  is  mutual  aid. 

Communication,  developed  imitation,  toleration,  and 
alliance  are  the  essential  activities  of  association.  Each 
characterizes  some  important  group  of  social  phenomena, 
and  together,  therefore,  they  are  the  antecedents  of  much 
social  differentiation.  Imitation  is  the  chief  social  factor 
of  economic  life.  Combined  with  individual  factors  it  is 
the  foundation  of  diversified  desires  and  of  diligent  indus¬ 
try.  Toleration  is  the  foundation  of  justice.  Mutual 
aid  is  the  foundation  of  economic  organization  and  of 
political  alliance. 

Association  is  not  perfect,  however,  until  it  is  pleas¬ 
urable  and  sympathetic.  Only  when  association  has  be¬ 
come  so  pleasurable  that  a  powerful  stimulation  of  purely 
individual  gratifications  would  be  necessary  to  overcome 
the  counter-attraction  of  the  social  excitement,  does  true 
sociality  exist. 

It  is  through  the  observation  of  activities  that  hitherto 
have  been  but  little  studied  that  the  genesis  of  social 
pleasure  and  of  the  higher  forms  of  association  is  to  be 
understood.  When  the  social  group,  however  it  has  orig¬ 
inated,  holds  together  for  successive  generations,  the  modes 
of  expenditure  of  energy  are  multiplied.  In  both  adults 
and  young,  but  in  a  much  greater  extent  in  the  young, 
expenditure  takes  the  form  of  play.  Festivity,  or  the 
combination  of  amusement  with  the  gratification  of  appe¬ 
tite,  comes  later,  and  perhaps  is  oftener  enjoyed  by  adults. 
In  play  and  festivity,  which  at  first  are  the  spontaneous 
overflow  of  surplus  energies,  there  come  into  existence 
true  social  forces,  products  of  a  social  condition,  which,  in 
turn,  contribute  to  the  evolution  of  a  higher  social  condi¬ 
tion.  They  are  powerful  enough  to  mould  individual 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


117 


nature;  they  begin  to  operate  on  the  individual  at  the 
most  impressionable  age,  and  they  continue  to  act  long 
enough  to  accomplish  permanent  results. 

Play  has  been  the  chief  educational  agency  in  animal  com¬ 
munities.  Young  birds  born  and  reared  within  each  other’s 
sight  and  hearing,  and  many  kinds  of  young  mammals, 
spend  literally  all  their  days  until  maturity  in  ceaseless 
frolics.  “  Life  in  societies  does  not  cease  when  the  nest¬ 
ing  period  is  over ;  it  begins  then  in  a  new  form.  The 
young  broods  gather  in  societies  of  youngsters,  generally 
including  several  species.  Social  life  is  practised  at  that 
time  chiefly  for  its  own  sake  —  partly  for  security,  and 
chiefly  for  the  pleasures  derived  from  it.”1 

“  The  villages  of  the  prairie-dogs  in  America  are  one 
of  the  loveliest  sights.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  embrace 
the  prairie,  it  sees  heaps  of  earth,  and  on  each  of  them  a 
prairie-dog  stands,  engaged  in  a  lively  conversation  with  its 
neighbours  by  means  of  short  barkings.  As  soon  as  the 
approach  of  man  is  signalled,  all  plunge  in  a  moment  into 
their  dwellings ;  all  have  disappeared  as  by  enchantment. 
But  if  the  danger  is  over,  the  little  creatures  soon  reappear. 
Whole  families  come  out  of  their  galleries  and  indulge  in 
play.  The  young  ones  scratch  one  another,  they  worry 
one  another,  and  display  their  gracefulness  while  standing 
upright,  and  in  the  meantime  the  old  ones  keep  watch. 
They  go  visiting  one  another,  and  the  beaten  footpaths 
which  connect  all  their  heaps  testify  of  the  frequency  of 
the  visitations.  In  short,  the  best  naturalists  have  written 
some  of  their  best  pages  in  describing  the  associations 
of  the  prairie-dogs  of  America,  the  marmots  of  the  Old 
World,  and  the  polar  marmots  of  the  Alpine  regions.”2 

In  like  manner,  among  human  beings,  it  is  in  the  play- 
day  of  childhood  that  social  sympathy,  a  social  sense,  and 
a  social  habit  are  evolved.  Later,  periodical  festivities 

1  Kropotkin,  op.  cit.,  p.  701. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  705. 


118 


PKINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


and  more  or  less  elaborate  amusements  become  important 
supplementary  means  of  social  education. 

Take  out  of  savage  life  its  feasts  and  dances  and  the 
remaining  social  activity  will  be  slight  indeed.  Dancing 
originates  in  an  overflow  of  energies  as  spontaneous  as 
the  frolics  of  animals,  but,  unlike  animal  frolics,  this  human 
diversion  is  soon  reduced  to  conventionalized  forms.  Im¬ 
itation  works  the  transformation.  The  crudest  savage 
dances  are  imitations  of  animals  and  of  familiar  occur¬ 
rences.  The  Tasmanians  in  their  dances  imitated  espe¬ 
cially  the  kangaroos  and  the  thunder  and  lightning.1  The 
South  Australians  carry  such  imitation  so  far  as  to  rep¬ 
resent  animal  hunts  or  battles.2  A  favourite  dramatic 
imitation  among  the  Carib  Indians  of  Brazil  represents  an 
agouti  in  a  pen  and  the  attempts  of  a  jaguar  to  get  him 
out.3  The  dancing  of  the  Eskimo  is  often  a  burlesque 
imitation  of  familiar  birds  and  beasts,  accompanied  by- 
songs  and  pantomimes.  Sometimes  the  women  of  savage 
tribes  have  private  dances  representative  of  occurrences  in 
their  own  lives.4  The  dances  of  children  are  everywhere 
more  impromptu  than  those  of  adults. 

Most  of  the  games  that  are  known  in  civilization  are 
found  also  in  savagery  and  barbarism.  Wrestling,  throw¬ 
ing  or  shooting  at  a  mark,  hide  and  seek,  are  univer¬ 
sal.  Often  the  sports  of  savages  and  barbarians  display 
an  astonishing  degree  of  ingenuity  and  dexterity.  New 
Hebrides  boys  tie  stones  to  one  end  of  cotton-tree  sticks 
and,  standing  on  the  beach,  together  throw  their  weighted 
sticks  beyond  the  line  of  surf.  The  stones  are  just  heavy 
enough  to  keep  the  sticks  upright  in  the  water  but  not  to 
sink  them.  The  stick  that  remains  bobbing  outside  of 

1  Bonwick,  “  The  Daily  Life  of  the  Tasmanians,”  pp.  28-40. 

2  Matthews,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute ,  Vol.  XXIV., 
November,  1894,  p.  189. 

3  Thum,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute ,  Vol.  XXII.,  Feb¬ 

ruary,  1893.  4  Bonwick,  op.  cit.,  p.  36. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


119 


the  breakers  after  all  the  others  have  lost  their  stones  or 
have  been  washed  up  on  the  beach  is  the  conqueror.1 

Nearly  all  games  make  much  of  rivalry  and  the  inci¬ 
dents  of  combat.  One  of  the  best  examples  is  the  spear 
play  of  the  Napo  Indians  of  the  Amazon  valley.  Two 
parties,  consisting  of  about  a  score  of  warriors  on  each 
side,  deliberately  aim  and  hurl  their  spears  in  rapid  suc¬ 
cession  at  one  another,  while  with  amazing  skill  they 
catch  the  flying  weapons  of  their  adversaries.2  An  ex¬ 
ample  significant  of  the  primitive  relations  of  the  sexes 
comes  from  Woodlark  Island,  New  Guinea.  By  moon¬ 
light  the  women  make  a  great  sand-hill  on  the  beach. 
Seating  themselves  on  the  hill  they  sing  and  defy  the  men 
to  pull  them  off.  One  by  one  the  men  appear  and  build 
a  similar  sand-hill.  The  numbers  of  men  and  women 
must  be  equal.  For  a  while  both  parties  sing.  Sud¬ 
denly  one  of  the  men  makes  a  dash  and  seizes  a  woman. 
All  her  companions  try  to  rescue  her  while  all  the  men 
assist  the  aggressor.  A  general  wrestle  follows,  which 
usually  ends  in  serious  injury  to  some  one.3 

In  the  social  enjoyments  of  human  beings  two  elements 
are  found  that,  so  far  as  we  know,  are  not  intentionally 
employed  by  the  lower  animals.  Next  to  rivalry,  chance 
is  the  chief  element  in  games,  the  world  over.  Gambling 
is  a  universal  passion.  Indulgence  in  stimulation  is  all 
but  universal.  There  are  few  tribes  that  do  not  use  intoxi¬ 
cating  drinks  or  narcotics.4  Deplorable  as  are  the  conse¬ 
quences  of  both  gambling  and  drunkenness,  the  truthful 
scientific  observer  is  forced  to  admit  that  in  the  early 
stages  of  social  development  these  vices  have  served  a 

1  Somerville,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute.,  Vol.  XXIII., 
May,  1894,  p.  393. 

2  Tyler,  Geographical  Journal ,  Vol.  III.,  June,  1894,  p.  479. 

8  Tetzlaff,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute ,  Vol.  XXII.,  May, 
1892,  p.  485. 

4  See  Letourneau,  “  La  sociologie  d’apr&s  l’etlinographie,”  Liv.  I., 
Chap.  IV. 


120 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


useful  function,  and  that  this  doubtless  is  the  explana¬ 
tion  of  their  astonishing  vitality.  They  have  been  the 
crude  excitants  of  social  feeling  in  crude  natures. 

Moreover,  among  rude  men  intoxicants  and  narcotics 
have  unquestionably  helped  to  convert  the  physiological 
function  of  eating  into  the  social  function  of  festivity. 
In  every  savage  and  barbarous  tribe  that  has  learned  to 
drink  or  to  smoke,  festivity  is  the  commonest  of  social 
pleasures  and  is  a  strong  social  bond. 

Spontaneous  play,  conventionalized  dancing,  games, 
feasting,  and  intoxication  are  combined  in  systematic 
festivities  which  are  periodically  repeated.  Such  occa¬ 
sions  are  of  great  importance  in  counteracting  the  many 
causes  of  antagonism  in  savage  life.  The  korroboree  of 
the  native  Australian  was  perhaps  the  most  important 
means  by  which  a  friendly  communication  was  kept  up 
between  tribes.  This  was  especially  true  of  the  kobongo 
korroboree  which  was  held  once  a  year.  For  days  before 
the  festival,  parties  assembled  from  near  and  far,  bringing 
with  them  great  quantities  of  wild  honey,  kangaroos, 
opossums,  emus,  and  wild  ducks.  The  festivities  lasted 
several  days  and  ended  in  a  peculiar  dance,  celebrated  by 
moonlight,  and  continued  until  the  performers  were  ex¬ 
hausted.  The  renewal  of  friendly  intercourse  between 
two  tribes  that  had  been  at  war  was  always  marked  by  a 
korroboree.1 

While  the  social  pleasures  of  civilization  are  marked  by 
greater  variety  and  refinement  than  those  of  savagery  and 
barbarism,  they  are  not  essentially  different.  Dancing, 
from  the  impromptu  polka  of  street  children  to  “  assem¬ 
blies  ”  and  masked  balls  ;  dramatic  representations,  from 
amateur  theatricals  to  grand  opera  ;  games  and  contests, 
from  pavement  marbles  to  yacht-racing  and  prize-fighting  ; 
gambling,  from  “  craps  ”  and  policy  buying  to  roulette  and 
“  book-making  ” ;  and  festivity  in  all  its  degrees,  are  the 

1  Curr,  “The  Australian  Race,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  89-92. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


121 


universal  amusements.  Their  influence  upon  the  growth 
of  social  feelings  cannot  be  overestimated.  According  to 
their  good  or  evil  character  they  unite  or  demoralize  the 
population.  Their  effects  are  most  conspicuously  seen 
where  civilization  is  in  the  rough,  or  where  it  is  just  be¬ 
ginning  to  reach  an  undeveloped  class.  They  were  a  chief 
factor  in  the  evolution  of  the  western  communities  of  the 
United  States.  “A  few  of  the  settlers  still  kept  some  of 
the  Presbyterian  austerity  of  character  as  regards  amuse¬ 
ments  ;  but,  as  a  rule,  they  were  fond  of  horse-racing, 
drinking,  dancing,  and  fiddling.  The  corn-shuckings, 
flax-pullings,  log-rollings  (when  the  felled  timber  was 
rolled  off  the  clearings),  house-raisings,  maple-sugar- 
boilings,  and  the  like  were  scenes  of  boisterous  and  light¬ 
hearted  merriment,  to  which  the  whole  neighbourhood 
came,  for  it  was  accounted  an  insult  if  a  man  was  not 
asked  in  to  help  on  such  occasions,  and  none  but  a  base 
churl  would  refuse  his  assistance.  The  backwoods  people 
had  to  front  peril  and  hardship  without  stint,  and  they 
loved  for  the  moment  to  leap  out  of  the  bounds  of  their 
narrow  lives  and  taste  the  coarse  pleasures  that  are  always 
dear  to  a  strong,  simple,  and  primitive  race.”1  If  the 
heterogeneous  masses  of  population  in  the  tenement-house 
wards  of  our  great  cities  are  ever  socially  organized,  it 
will  be  after  they  have  been  brought  under  the  influence 
of  more  healthful  social  pleasures  than  those  to  which 
they  often  instinctively  resort. 

Association  reacts  upon  the  associating  individuals  and 
modifies  their  natures.  In  all  that  pertains  to  mental  and 
moral  life  association  is  a  more  important  influence  than 
the  physical  environment.  Through  psychical  changes 
that  react  on  the  nervous  system,  and  in  various  other 
ways,  association  affects  the  bodily  organization  also. 

The  intellectual  powers  of  voluntary  attention,  general- 
1  Roosevelt,  “  The  Winning  of  the  West,”  Yol.  I.,  p.  176. 


122 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ization,  abstract  thought  and  invention,  are  developed 
chiefly  by  association.1  They  presuppose  in  the  individ¬ 
ual  a  consciousness  of  himself  as  a  subject,  and  that  con¬ 
sciousness  is  an  effect  of  his  observation  and  imitation  of 
individuals  like  himself.2  After  self-consciousness  arises 
scientific  thought  about  the  environment  is  possible.  It 
presupposes  a  perception  of  uniformities.  This  presup¬ 
poses  a  perception  of  long  sequences,  which,  in  turn, 
presupposes  association  long  continued  and  the  art  of 
transmitting  observations  from  one  generation  to  another. 
Originality  of  thought  presupposes  the  modifiability  of 
belief,  which  is  due  to  the  varied  experience  that  can  be 
had  only  in  association.3 

It  is  not  necessary  here  to  demonstrate  the  social  origin 
of  the  moral  qualities  of  love  of  approbation,  sympathy, 
fortitude,  courage,  truthfulness,  and  good  faith.  Lewes4 
and  Mr.  Spencer5  have  presented  such  demonstrations  at 
length,  but  no  one  has  ever  gone  more  directly  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter  than  Adam  Smith  in  “  The  Theory  of 
Moral  Sentiments.”  “  As  nature  teaches  the  spectators  to 
assume  the  circumstances  of  the  person  principally  con¬ 
cerned,”  wrote  Smith,  “  so  she  teaches  this  last  in  some 
measure  to  assume  those  of  spectators.”  On  these  two 
efforts  (that  of  the  spectators  to  enter  into  the  feelings  of 
the  principal,  and  that  of  the  principal  to  enter  into  the  feel¬ 
ings  of  the  spectators)  are  founded  two  sets  of  virtues, 
one  the  soft,  gentle,  and  humane,  the  other  the  great,  the 
awful,  the  respectable  —  virtues  of  self-denial  and  self- 
government.6 

1  Cf.  Lewes,  “Problems  of  Life  and  Mind”;  Spencer,  “The  Prin¬ 
ciples  of  Psychology,”  Vol.  II.,  Part  VIII.,  Chap.  III. ;  Ribot,  “  The 
Psychology  of  Attention”;  and  Baldwin,  “Mental  Development  in  the 
Child  and  the  Race.” 

2  Baldwin,  op.  tit.,  p.  18. 

8  Spencer,  op.  tit.  4  Ibid. 

6  Ibid.,  Part  VIII.,  Chap.  V. 

6  “  The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,”  third  edition,  pp.  28-30. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


123 


Association  thus  moulds  the  natures  of  individuals,  and 
adapts  them  to  social  life.  It  creates  a  social  nature. 

The  true  social  nature  is  so  far  susceptible  to  suggestion 
and  so  far  imitative  in  respect  of  all  matters  of  material 
well-being,  that  its  possessor  desires  and  endeavours  to 
live  at  least  as  well  as  the  average,  fairly  successful, 
fairly  well-to-do  members  of  the  community.  The  desire 
to  enjoy  what  others  enjoy,  and  the  imitative  tendency 
to  act  as  others  act,  are  strong  enough  in  the  social  indi¬ 
vidual  to  impel  him  to  pursue  his  material  interests  as  dili¬ 
gently  as  most  other  individuals  pursue  their  interests. 
This  combination  of  desire  and  diligence  is  the  basis  of 
what  economists  call  a  standard  of  living.  It  is  the 
foundation  of  wealth  and  of  all  individual  advance¬ 
ment. 

The  social  nature  is  tolerant.  The  social  individual  re¬ 
frains  from  active  interference  with  his  fellows  in  their  life- 
struggle.  It  is  only  after  the  practice  of  toleration  has 
become  confirmed  and  certain  tastes  have  become  estab¬ 
lished,  that  the  tolerant  nature  can  be  said  to  exist.  The 
members  of  the  community  must  be  beyond  the  first  discov¬ 
ery  that,  after  the  exceptionally  weak  have  been  killed  off 
by  the  strong,  and  the  exceptionally  strong  have  been  killed 
off  by  their  own  rashness  or  by  a  combined  resistance  of 
individuals  of  average  power,  further  conflict,  among  indi¬ 
viduals  nearly  equal  in  strength,  is  useless.  They  must 
have  lost  the  appetite  for  each  other’s  flesh  and  must  have 
become  satisfied  with  kinds  of  food  and  other  material 
means  of  life  that  are  sufficiently  abundant  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  the  whole  society.  Antagonism  within 
the  community  can  disappear  only  as  fast  as  tastes  that 
are  exclusive  make  way  for  tastes  that  can  be  enjoyed  by 
many,  a  truth  which  the  sociologist  can  cordially  recom¬ 
mend  to  those  social  reformers  who  expect  to  make  the 
world  better  by  rearrangements  of  industry  irrespective 
of  human  desires.  Still  other  changes  in  consciousness 


124 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


are  necessary  before  the  tolerant  nature  is  perfect.  Tol¬ 
eration  must  be  not  only  endurable  but  also  agreeable. 
There  must  be  a  growth  of  association  of  presence  as  an 
habitual  phase  of  feeling.  There  must  be  a  feeling  of 
pleasure  in  the  mere  presence  of  a  fellow-creature. 

The  social  nature,  finally,  is  helpful,  sympathetic,  and 
companionable. 

The  results  of  association  are  not  equally  shared  by  all 
individuals.  By  no  combination  of  circumstances  could 
it  happen  that  all  should  start  in  life  with  equally  good 
heredity,  or  that  all  should  afterwards  get  equally  good 
nourishment.  The  processes  of  selection  go  on  because  of 
these  differences.  Quite  as  impossible  is  it  that  all  should 
share  equally  in  the  mental  growth  and  moral  modification 
that  takes  place.  Inequality,  therefore,  in  physical,  mental, 
and  moral  power,  and  varieties  of  disposition,  are  among 
the  inevitable  characteristics  of  a  social  population. 

A  population  is  therefore  always  differentiated  into 
classes.  Population  classes  are  of  three  fundamental  or 
primary  orders,  namely :  vitality  classes,  personality  classes, 
and  social  classes.  Classes  of  all  other  orders,  such  as  po¬ 
litical,  industrial,  and  economic  classes,  are  secondary, 
and  are  highly  special  products  of  advanced  social  evo¬ 
lution.  Primary  and  secondary  population  classes  are 
continually  confounded  in  current  discussions  and  even 
in  statistical  investigations,  because  of  the  failure  to  ob¬ 
serve  the  rule  that  classifications  of  evolutionary  phe¬ 
nomena  must  be  made  with  reference  to  the  genetic 
order  in  which  differentiations  appear.1  Differences  of 
vitality,  of  personal  constitution,  ability,  and  character, 
and  of  social  nature,  are  immediately  created  by  associ¬ 
ation.  Differences  of  political  status  and  of  occupation 

1  See  ante ,  page  63  ;  cf.  also  “  Is  the  Term  Social  Classes  a  Scientific 
Category,”  read  at  the  twenty-second  annual  session  of  the  National 
Conference  of  Charities  and  Correction,  New  Haven,  May,  1895.  “Pro¬ 
ceedings,”  pp. 110-116. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


125 


are  mediately  created  by  association,  through  the  evolu¬ 
tion  of  a  social  constitution.  Differences  of  wealth  and 
poverty  are  yet  more  remote  consequences  of  association. 
They  are  among  the  latest  and  most  special  phenomena  of 
progress.  The  secondary  population  classes  are  of  inter¬ 
est  to  students  of  the  special  social  sciences.  The  general 
sociologist  is  concerned  only  with  the  primary  classes. 

The  vitality  classes  are  the  simplest  direct  results  of 
association.  They  spring  from  the  combination  of  differ¬ 
ent  elements  in  the  inheritance  and  circumstances  of  each 
individual.  The  combination  is  governed  by  association, 
and  especially  by  the  consciousness  of  kind.  The  indices 
of  the  vitality  classes  are  the  ratios  of  their  death-rates 
to  their  birth-rates.  The  high  vitality  class  has  a  high 
birth-rate  and  a  low  death-rate.  In  modern  communities 
it  roughly  coincides  with  the  rural  landowning  population. 
The  medium  vitality  class  has  a  low  birth-rate  and  a  low 
death-rate.  It  approximately  coincides  with  the  business 
and  professional  classes  of  the  towns.  The  low  vitality 
class  has  a  high  birth-rate  and  a  high  death-rate.  It  ap¬ 
proximately  coincides  with  the  impoverished  lower  work¬ 
ing  class  of  the  towns.1 

The  personality  classes,  like  the  vitality  classes,  are 
created  by  the  combinations  of  inheritance  and  of  cir¬ 
cumstance  as  determined  by  association,  and  are  namely: 
the  geniuses  and  talented;  the  normally  endowed;  the 
defective.  The  beginnings  of  a  scientific  study  of  the  first 
two  of  these  classes  have  been  made  by  Sir  Francis  Gal- 
ton,2  by  Professor  Cesare  Lombroso,3  and  by  a  few  other 
less  well  known  investigators,4  but  as  yet  there  is  little 
exact  statistical  investigation  of  either  normal  or  remark- 

1  See  Hansen,  “  Die  drei  Bevolkerungsstufen.”  This  subject  is  further 
discussed,  supra ,  pp.  337, 342. 

2  “  Hereditary  Genius”  and  “  Natural  Inheritance.” 

3  “  The  Man  of  Genius.” 

4  See  MacDonald,  “  Abnormal  Man.” 


126 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


able  personality.  The  defective  have  long  been  studied 
by  statistical  methods.  In  all  enumerations  of  the  defec¬ 
tive  should  be  included  the  crippled,  the  blind,  the  deaf 
and  dumb,  the  inebriate,  the  epileptic,  the  imbecile,  the 
insane,  and  the  suicidal. 

The  social  classes,  distinguished  by  differences  of  social 
nature,  are  created  partly  by  the  combinations  of  inheri¬ 
tance,  and  partly  also  by  the  educational  influence  of 
association,  which  continues  to  act  on  the  unequally  en¬ 
dowed  personal  elements  in  the  population.  It  moulds 
some  individuals  into  a  perfect  adaptation  to  social  life. 
In  a  less  degree  it  modifies  Others.  Social  pressure  and 
discrimination  also,  which  increase  as  population  becomes 
dense  and  active,  have  important  consequences.  Normally 
organized  individuals  react  upon  them  healthfully,  and 
become  more  and  more  social,  while  those  defectives  that 
have  become  degenerate  react  morbidly  until  they  become 
wholly  unfit  for  social  life  or  even  antagonistic  to  it.  Ob¬ 
viously  these  are  differentiations  not  only  of  personality 
but  also  of  sociality. 

The  true  social  classes  are :  the  social,  the  non-social, 
the  pseudo-social,  and  the  anti-social.1  The  social  class 
is  composed  of  those  in  whom  the  consciousness  of  kind 
is  highly  developed  and  whose  dispositions  and  abilities 
impel  them  to  make  positive  contributions  to  the  sum  of 
helpful  relations.  As  ability  and  willingness  to  entertain 
with  refinement  and  with  charm  is  the  test  which  polite 
society  applies  to  men  and  women  who  seek  recognition 
and  preferment,  so  ability  and  willingness  to  devote  life 
and  means  to  the  defence  and  amelioration  of  the  existing 
social  order  is  the  test  of  positively  social  qualities  in  the 
larger  sense.  The  social  class  therefore  is  the  class  that 

1  One  of  my  former  students,  Mr.  Oscar  Woodward  Zeigler,  suggests  a 
more  elaborate  division  which,  for  some  purposes,  would  be  convenient. 
See  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science , 
Vol.  VI.,  No.  2,  September,  1895,  pp.  147-149. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


127 


Harrington,  developing  the  thought  of  Aristotle,  called 
the  natural  aristocracy  among  men.1  Without  this  class, 
composed  of  those  who  help,  inspire,  and  lead ;  of  the 
unselfishly  enterprising  ;  of  the  philanthropic  and  self- 
sacrificing  ;  of  reformers  of  the  sane  and  patient  sort ; 
and  of  those  who  voice  the  common  aspiration,  no  com¬ 
munity,  whether  its  government  be  monarchical  or  demo¬ 
cratic,  whether  its  wealth  be  small  or  great,  can  survive 
and  prosper. 

The  non-social  class  is  composed  of  those  who  cling  to 
a  narrow  individualism.  The  consciousness  of  kind  in 
them  is  normal,  but  it  is  only  partially  developed.  They 
will  neither  accept  favours  nor  often  give  them.  They 
ask  only  to  be  let  alone.  This  is  the  primordial  social 
class,  from  which  the  other  three  social  classes  are  directly 
or  indirectly  generated.  It  contains  in  germ  all  social 
virtue,  all  social  vice  and  crime.  It  is  simply  neutral, 
waiting  to  be  reached  and  impelled  upwards  or  down¬ 
wards  by  the  resistless  currents  of  social  life. 

The  pseudo-social  class  is  composed  of  congenital  and 
habitual  paupers.  Their  consciousness  of  kind  is  degen¬ 
erate.  They  simulate  the  qualities  of  the  social,  and 
invariably  pose  as  victims  of  misfortune.  In  reality  they 
have  not  even  the  virtues  of  the  non-social.  They  desire 
only  to  live  as  parasites.  Among  those  whom  the  law 
classes  as  paupers,  however,  there  are  always  some  true 
victims  of  misfortune,  who  therefore  do  not  belong  to  the 
pseudo-social  class. 

The  anti-social  class  is  composed  of  instinctive  and 
habitual  criminals, 2  in  whom  the  consciousness  of  kind  is 
approaching  extinction,  and  who  detest  society  and  all  its 
ways.  They  make  no  pretence  of  social  virtues  and  pre- 

1  “  Oceana,”  p.  44. 

2  For  a  description  of  the  true  criminal  nature,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  the  works  of  Lombroso,  Garofalo,  F6r6,  Laurent,  Ellis,  and  Mao 
Donald. 


128 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


fer  to  live  by  open  aggression  upon  the  social.  They  do 
not  desire  the  cooperation  of  the  social  in  maintaining 
their  rights  or  interests,  and  prefer  to  avenge  personally 
any  real  or  fancied  wrongs  that  they  suffer.  Among  those 
who  are  by  law  classed  as  criminals  there  are  many  who 
have  not  become  altogether  anti-social,  and  who  could  be 
saved  from  the  anti-social  class. 

Wherever  the  secondary  sources  of  subsistence  are 
abundant  and  permanent,  —  that  is  to  say,  wherever 
there  is  surplus  wealth,  the  pauper  and  criminal  types  are 
developed  into  great  population  classes.  Animal  societies 
have  criminal  members.1  They  have  also  their  pauper 
individuals  which  follow  the  band  in  its  food  quests  and 
live  on  the  fragments  of  the  food  that  the  stronger 
majority  procure :  but  they  have  not,  like  human  societies, 
a  pauper  class,  because  surplus  food  is  too  inadequate  in 
amount  and  the  conditions  of  life  in  general  are  too  severe 
for  pauper  endurance  ;  they  have  no  criminal  class  because 
criminal  individuals  are  expelled  or  put  to  death. 

As  social  aggregation  begins  where  natural  supplies  of 
food  are  found,  so  criminal  and  pauper  aggregation  begins 
and  continues  where  the  artificial  surplus  supply  is  accu¬ 
mulated.  “The  frontier,”  says  Roosevelt,  “in  spite  of 
the  outward  uniformity  of  means  and  manners,  is  preem¬ 
inently  the  place  of  sharp  contrasts.  The  two  extremes 
of  society,  the  strongest,  best,  and  most  adventurous,  and 
the  weakest,  most  shiftless,  and  vicious,  are  those  which 
seem  naturally  to  drift  to  the  border.  Most  of  the  men 
who  came  to  the  backwoods  to  hew  out  homes  and  rear 
families  were  stern,  manly,  and  honest ;  but  there  was 
also  a  large  influx  of  people  drawn  from  the  worst  immi¬ 
grants  that  perhaps  ever  were  brought  to  America  —  the 
mass  of  convict  servants,  redemptioners,  and  the  like, 
who  formed  such  an  excessively  undesirable  substratum 
to  the  otherwise  excellent  population  of  the  tide-water 
1  MacDonald,  “Criminology,”  pp.  19-21. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


129 


regions  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas.  Many  of  the 
southern  crackers  or  poor  whites  spring  from  this  class, 
which  also  in  the  backwoods  gave  birth  to  generations  of 
violent  and  hardened  criminals,  and  to  an  even  greater 
number  of  shiftless,  lazy,  cowardly  cumberers  of  the 
earth’s  surface.  They  had  in  many  places  a  permanently 
bad  effect  upon  the  tone  of  the  whole  community.  .  .  . 
In  the  backwoods  the  lawless  led  lives  of  abandoned 
wickedness ;  they  hated  good  for  good’s  sake,  and  did 
their  utmost  to  destroy  it.  Where  the  bad  element  was 
large,  gangs  of  horse  thieves,  highwaymen,  and  other 
criminals  often  united  with  the  uncontrollable  young 
men  of  vicious  tastes  who  were  given  to  gambling,  fight¬ 
ing,  and  the  like.  They  then  formed  half-secret  organiza¬ 
tions,  often  of  great  extent  and  with  wide  ramifications ; 
and  if  they  could  control  a  community  they  established 
a  reign  of  terror,  driving  out  both  ministers  and  magis¬ 
trates,  and  killing  without  scruple  those  who  interfered 
with  them.”  1 

The  history  of  the  English  Poor  Law  is  one  long  record 
of  the  increase  and  diminution  of  pauperism  with  the 
rhythmical  rise  and  fall  of  a  maudlin  sentimentalism 
that  desired  to  bestow  in  alms  and  parish  aid  the  aug¬ 
menting  wealth  of  the  kingdom.  All  modern  experience 
of  poor  relief  is  an  overwhelming  demonstration  that  any 
community  can  have  all  the  pauperism  and  criminality 
that  it  cares  to  pay  for. 

At  the  present  time  the  great  centres  of  secondary 
sources  of  subsistence  are  the  cities,  and  it  is  there  that 
the  pauper  and  criminal  population  is  most  rapidly  in¬ 
creasing.  During  the  year  ending  October  31,  1892, 2  no 
less  than  45,777  criminals  and  misdemeanants  were  con¬ 
victed  in  the  courts  of  New  York  City.  In  1890  the 

1  “The  Winning  of  the  West,”  pp.  130,  131. 

2  “  Annual  Report  of  the  Secretary  of  State  on  Statistics  of  Crime  in 
the  State  of  New  York,”  1893. 


130 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


same  city,  with  a  population  of  1,515, 301, 1  through  its 
municipal  outdoor-poor  department,  relieved  25,212  adults 
and  1324  children,  and  provided  8340  families  with  coal. 
The  same  department  buried  2042  paupers.  The  alms¬ 
house  at  Blackwell’s  Island  in  the  course  of  the  year  cared 
for  5337  indoor  paupers.2 

In  the  study  of  the  genesis  of  the  population  classes  we 
have  the  key  to  the  scientific  arrangement  of  those  inter¬ 
esting  questions  that  are  often  spoken  of  as  the  problems 
of  practical  sociology.  Just  how  the  study  of  crime, 
pauperism,  and  vice,  of  poverty,  insanity,  and  suicide, 
could  be  logically  connected  with  the  propositions  of 
theoretical  sociology,  has  been  a  puzzling  question  to 
many  students,  and  sociological  writers  generally  have 
fallen  back  upon  the  familiar  expedient  of  dividing  their 
subject  into  theoretical  and  practical,  or  theoretical  and 
applied  sociology,  or  the  science  and  the  art.  I  confess 
that  I  have  never  had  much  respect  for  this  expedient. 
It  is  the  easy  device  of  incomplete  or  baffled  thinking. 
Some  of  the  facts  that  a  science  deals  with  are  more 
practical  than  others  because  our  daily  lives  are  in  more 
immediate  contact  with  them ;  but  as  knowable  facts 
they  admit  of  explanation ;  the  explanation  is  a  theory, 
and  if  we  do  not  see  it  to  be  a  coordinate  part  of  the 
larger  theory  of  our  subject  in  its  entirety,  the  reason 
is  that  we  have  not  yet  fully  worked  out  the  logical 

1  As  given  by  the  Federal  Census. 

2  “  Thirty-first  Annual  Report  of  the  Commissioners  of  Charities  and 

Correction.”  I  give  the  figures  of  1890-92,  as  being  more  fairly  repre¬ 
sentative  than  later  ones,  because  the  distressful  winter  of  1893-94  and 
the  bountiful  and  widely  advertised  relief  brought  an  unusual  influx  of 
vagrants  and  criminals.  Mr.  Charles  D.  Kellogg,  General  Secretary  of  the 
Charity  Organization  Society,  estimates  the  number  of  the  non-resident 
poor  in  the  city  that  winter  at  20,000,  the  whole  number  of  idle,  able- 
bodied  indigent  at  60,000,  and  the  total  population  that  was  cared  for  by 
special  exertions  at  200,000.  “  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference 

of  Charities  and  Correction,”  Twenty-first  annual  session,  p.  23. 


THE  SOCIAL  POPULATION 


131 


subordination  of  its  particular  theorems.  More  ade¬ 
quate  views  of  the  great  issues  of  practical  sociology 
may  be  looked  for  if  we  can  effect  a  scientific  arrange¬ 
ment  of  the  problems.  If  association  necessarily  modi¬ 
fies  the  physical,  mental,  and  moral  nature,  but  not  equally 
in  all  individuals,  and  if  unequal  degrees  of  adjustment 
to  the  social  conditions  of  life  are  therefore  inevitable,  we 
have  an  explanation  of  the  differentiation  of  the  popula¬ 
tion  into  classes,  with  well-marked  differences  of  physical, 
mental,  and  social  nature.  Therefore  it  may  be  that  in  a 
true  theory  of  social  evolution  we  shall  yet  find  an  inter¬ 
pretation  that  will  create  a  scientific  order  in  the  maze  of 
facts  of  practical  sociology. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 

The  mental  and  moral  elements  of  society  are  combined 
in  products  that  are  called  by  such  terms  as  the  common 
feeling,  the  general  desire,  the  moral  sense,  the  public 
opinion,  and  the  general  will  of  the  community,  and  which 
it  is  convenient  for  the  sociologist  to  name  collectively 
the  social  mind.  The  primary  result  of  association  is  an 
evolution  of  the  individual  mind.  The  secondary  result 
is  an  evolution  of  the  social  mind. 

The  first  writer  to  formulate  a  scientific  conception  of 
the  social  mind  was  Lewes,  who  has  given  an  excel¬ 
lent  account  of  what  he  calls  the  general  mind.  “  The 
experiences  of  each  individual,”  he  says,  “come  and  go; 
they  correct,  enlarge,  destroy  one  another,  leaving  behind 
them  a  certain  residual  store,  which,  condensed  in  intui¬ 
tions  and  formulated  in  principles,  direct  and  modify  all 
future  experiences.  The  sum  of  these  is  designated  as 
the  individual  mind.  A  similar  process  evolves  the  gen¬ 
eral  mind  —  the  residual  store  of  experiences  common  to 
all.  By  means  of  language  the  individual  shares  in  the 
general  fund,  which  thus  becomes  for  him  an  impersonal 
objective  influence.  To  it  each  appeals.  We  all  assimi¬ 
late  some  of  its  material,  and  help  to  increase  its  store. 
Not  only  do  we  find  ourselves  confronting  nature,  to 
whose  order  we  must  conform,  but  confronting  society, 
whose  laws  we  must  obey.  We  have  to  learn  what 
nature  is  and  does,  what  our  fellow-men  think  and  will, 

132 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


133 


and  unless  we  learn  aright  and  act  in  conformity,  we  are 
inexorably  punished.1 

“ .  .  .  Each  new  generation  is  horn  in  this  social 
medium,  and  has  to  adapt  itself  to  the  established  forms. 
Society,  though  constituted  by  individuals,  has  a  power¬ 
ful  reaction  on  every  individual.  ‘  In  the  infancy  of 
nations,’  said  Montesquieu,  ‘  man  forms  the  state ;  in 
their  maturity  the  state  forms  the  man.’  It  is  thus  also 
with  the  collective  experience  of  the  race  fashioning  the 
experience  of  the  individual.  It  makes  a  man  accept 
what  he  cannot  understand,  and  obey  what  he  does  not 
believe.  His  thoughts  are  only  partly  his  own  ;  they  are 
also  the  thoughts  of  others.  His  actions  are  guided  by 
the  will  of  others ;  even  in  rebellion  he  has  them  in  his 
mind.  His  standard  is  outside.  That  is  true  which 
all  men  affirm,  and  no  experience  contradicts:  consensus 
gentium.  If  a  man  cannot  see  this  truth,  he  is  pronounced 
to  be  an  anomaly  or  a  madman.  If  he  does  not  feel  what 
all  feel,  he  is  thrown  out  of  account,  except  in  the  reckon¬ 
ing  of  abnormities. 

“Individual  experiences  being  limited  and  individual 
spontaneity  feeble,  we  are  strengthened  and  enriched  by 
assimilating  the  experiences  of  others.  A  nation,  a  tribe, 
a  sect  is  the  medium  of  the  individual  mind,  as  a  sea,  a 
river,  or  a  pond  is  the  medium  of  a  fish :  through  this  it 
touches  the  outlying  world,  and  is  touched  by  it ;  but  the 
direct  motions  of  its  activity  are  within  this  circle.  The 
nation  affects  the  sect,  the  sect  the  individual.  Not  that 
the  individual  is  passive,  he  is  only  directed;  he,  too, 
reacts  on  the  sect  and  nation,  helping  to  create  the  social 
life  of  which  he  partakes.”  2 

Lewes  did  not  distinguish  between  the  general  mind  of 
a  particular  society  and  the  general  mind  of  humanity. 
It  will  be  convenient  to  observe  the  discrimination.  Each 

1  “  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind  :  The  Study  of  Psychology,”  p.  161. 

2  Op.  cit.,  p.  165. 


134 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


community  or  tribe,  each  nation,  has  its  own  social  mind, 
which  is  more  unlike  the  social  mind  of  any  other  society 
than  the  physical  appearance  of  one  nationality  is  unlike 
that  of  another.  Yet  all  communities  have  feelings  and 
thoughts  in  common :  there  is  a  human  mind. 

We  must  carefully  avoid  associating  false  conceptions 
with  the  terms  social  mind  and  social  consciousness. 
They  do  not  stand  for  mere  abstractions.  The  social 
mind  is  a  concrete  thing.  It  is  more  than  any  individual 
mind  and  dominates  every  individual  will.  Yet  it  exists 
only  in  individual  minds,  and  we  have  no  knowledge  of 
any  consciousness  but  that  of  individuals.  The  social  con¬ 
sciousness,  then,  is  nothing  more  than  the  feeling  or  the 
thought  that  appears  at  the  same  moment  in  all  individ¬ 
uals,  or  that  is  propagated  from  one  to  another  through 
the  assembly  or  the  community.  The  social  mind  is  the 
phenomenon  of  many  individual  minds  in  interaction,  so 
playing  upon  one  another  that  they  simultaneously  feel 
the  same  sensation  or  emotion,  arrive  at  one  judgment  and 
perhaps  act  in  concert.  It  is,  in  short,  the  mental  unity 
of  many  individuals  or  of  a  crowd.1  It  is  therefore  a 
product  of  what  M.  Tarde  has  called  a  social  logic,2  which 
binds  the  products  of  individual  logic  into  more  complex 
wholes. 

In  its  simplest  form  the  social  integration  of  feeling  and 
belief  is  effected  imitatively  and  sympathetically.  A  wave 
of  feeling  may  surge  through  a  crowd,  and  expend  itself 
in  an  almost  purely  reflex  act,  as  when  an  audience  bursts 
into  applause.  Again,  perceiving  the  same  facts,  feeling 
about  them  in  the  same  way,  and  observing  in  one  another 
the  same  outward  signs  of  similar  inward  states,  all  the 
members  of  a  social  aggregation  may,  without  discussion 
or  deliberation,  be  simultaneously  moved  to  like  action. 
To  take  a  definite  example  from  animal  life,  this  is  what 

1  Cf.  Le  Bon,  “Psychologic  des  foules,”  p.  14.  2  “  La  logique  sociale.” 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


135 


happens  when  wildly  excited  elephants,  with  heavy  blows 
of  their  trunks,  drive  off  a  stranger  elephant  that  attempts 
to  take  refuge  among  them,  —  a  sight  often  witnessed  in 
India.1  It  is  what  happens  when  animals  or  human 
beings  flee  in  panic  from  sudden  danger,  or  gather  with 
dread  and  curiosity  at  the  scene  of  an  accident.  It  must 
be  by  some  such  process  that  bands  of  hundreds  or 
thousands  of  birds,  squirrels,  buffaloes,  or  horses  come 
together  and  conduct  an  orderly  migration. 

The  imitative  and  sympathetic  integration  of  feeling 
and  belief,  manifesting  itself  in  more  or  less  violent  reflex 
or  instinctive  action,  is  seen  on  a  large  scale  in  popular 
fads  or  crazes,  panics,  emotional  revivals,  mobs,  lynchings, 
riots,  and  revolutions.  The  character  of  the  outbreak 
depends  partly  upon  the  temperament,  partly  upon  the 
nervous  condition,  and  partly  upon  the  social  nature  of 
the  population.  The  greater  the  proportion  of  criminality, 
degeneration,  and  morbid  feeling  in  the  population  the 
more  violent  is  the  disturbance.  On  June  28,  1895,  at 
Jackson,  Kentucky,  one  Thomas  Smith,  the  murderer  of 
eight  men,  was  baptized  and  then  hanged,  in  the  presence 
of  an  immense  throng.  People  were  encamped  along  the 
river  all  night,  awaiting  the  event.  Excursion  trains 
were  run  and  hundreds  of  mountaineers  arrived  on  foot 
and  on  horseback.2  That  such  a  population  should  be 
subject  to  spasms  of  lawless  frenzy  is  in  no  way  remark¬ 
able,  and  one  need  feel  no  surprise  to  read  that  only  six 
months  before  this  occurrence  an  Ohio  judge  had  refused 
to  grant  a  Kentucky  demand  for  extradition,  on  the 
ground  that  the  number  of  lynchings  in  Kentucky  created 
a  presumption  that  the  prisoner,  if  sent  back,  would  die 
without  legal  process.3  Excitable,  sanguine  populations 
are  more  subject  than  others  to  emotional  epidemic. 

1  Tennent,  “  Sketches  of  the  Natural  History  of  Ceylon,”  p.  114. 

2  New  York  Evening  Post,  June  28,  1895. 

8  Political  Science  Quarterly ,  Vol.  X.,  No.  2,  June,  1895,  p.  374. 


136 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Southern  nationalities  are  more  apt  than  northern  to  act 
impulsively.  Revolutions  in  South  America  ;  anarchical 
outbreaks  in  Sicily  ;  rioting  in  the  streets  of  Madrid,  like 
that  in  which  a  mob  of  military  officers  wrecked  newspaper 
offices  on  March  16,  1895  ; 1  or  in  the  streets  of  Budapest, 
like  that  of  the  students  on  the  occasion  of  Kossuth’s 
funeral, 2  —  these  are  occurrences  to  be  expected  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  events. 

Among  the  contributory  causes  of  unreasoning  social 
impulse  must  be  included  all  those  that  have  long  been 
recognized  as  factors  of  individual  criminality  and  folly. 
Heat,  for  example,  sends  up  the  curve  of  revolutions, 
seditions,  and  riots,  as  it  does  that  of  crimes  against  per¬ 
sons,  and  that  of  disorderly  conduct  in  jails,  prisons,  and 
insane  asylums.3  Density  of  population,  the  transition 
from  agriculture  to  industrial  employment,  stress  of  com¬ 
petition,  and  alcoholism,  have  a  like  unfavourable  effect. 

The  chief  condition,  however,  of  passionate  and  violent 
social  action  is  the  massing  of  men  in  crowds.  Crowds 
are  subject  to  a  swift  contagion  of  feeling,4  they  are  sen¬ 
sitive  to  suggestion,  they  think  in  images  and  are  subject 
to  hallucinations,5  they  go  wild  over  the  catchwords  and 
formulas  that  happen  to  be  popular  fetiches.6  The  crowd 
is  devoid  of  a  sense  of  responsibility,  because  while  in  the 
crowd,  the  individual  loses  his  own  feeling  of  responsibil¬ 
ity  and  acquires  a  sense  of  invincible  power,  and  so  gives 
way  to  impulses  which,  if  he  were  alone,  he  would  control.7 
Like  the  savage  and  the  child,  the  crowd  is  intolerant  of 
anything  interposed  between  its  desires  and  their  realiza- 

1  Political  Science  Quarterly ,  Vol.  X.,  No.  2,  June,  1895,  p.  383. 

2  Ibid.,  Vol.  IX.,  No.  2,  June,  1894,  p.  371. 

3  See  Lombroso  et  Laschi,  “Le  crime  politique  et  les  revolutions,” 
Vol.  I.,  Chaps.  II.  and  III.,  and  Plate  I. 

4  Le  Bon,  op.  cit .,  p.  18. 

6  Ibid.,  pp.  29-30. 

6  Ibid.,  p.  89  sq. 

7  Ibid.,  p.  18. 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


137 


tion,1  and  it  always  manifests  a  tendency  to  carry  sug¬ 
gested  ideas  immediately  into  action.2  Crowds  therefore 
are  mobile,  and  with  changing  excitants  they  are  gener¬ 
ous  or  cruel,  heroic  or  pusillanimous.3 

A  more  perfect  integration  of  the  elements  of  social 
consciousness  and  a  complex  organization  of  the  social 
mind  is  effected  deliberatively,  through  rational  discus¬ 
sion.  The  essential  steps  of  the  process  are,  the  genesis 
of  social  self-consciousness,  the  evolution  of  social  memory, 
and  the  evolution  of  social  values.  The  result  is  rational 
social  choice,  by  means  of  which  a  society  that  is  con¬ 
scious  of  itself  as  a  community  is  able,  in  a  measure,  to 
shape  its  career. 

Discussion  and  social  self-consciousness  are  but  differ¬ 
ent  phases  of  the  same  phenomenon,  or,  rather,  one  is 
process  and  the  other  is  result.  As  social  consciousness 
in  its  more  general  modes  consists  of  thoughts  that  appear 
simultaneously  in  many  individual  minds  which  are  act¬ 
ing  upon  one  another,  so  the  social  self-consciousness 
consists  of  similar  self-conscious  states,  which  simultane¬ 
ously  exist  in  many  individual  minds  that  are  in  active 
communication.  In  a  true  social  self-consciousness,  which 
must  be  described  rather  than  defined,  —  the  distinctive 
peculiarity  is,  that  each  individual  makes  his  neighbour’s 
feeling  or  judgment  an  object  of  thought,  at  the  same 
instant  that  he  makes  his  own  feeling  or  thought  such 
an  object ;  that  he  judges  the  two  to  be  identical,  and 
that  he  then  acts  with  a  full  consciousness  that  his  fel¬ 
lows  have  come  to  like  conclusions,  and  will  act  in  like 
ways. 

Through  such  comparisons  of  one  man’s  knowledge  or 
opinion  with  another’s,  a  community  is  able  to  perceive 
what  otherwise  it  could  only  feel.  For  example,  a  com¬ 
munity  feels,  it  does  not  perceive,  the  fluctuations  of  sup- 
1  Le  Bon,  op.  cit.,  p.  26.  2  Ibid.,  p.  20.  3  Ibid.,  p.  25. 


138 


PRINCIPLES  OP  SOCIOLOGY 


ply  and  demand  in  tlie  market  so  long  as  there  are  no 
systematic  records  and  comparisons  of  prices,  but  the 
moment  that  quotations  are  generally  exchanged,  or  that 
statistics  are  published,  the  feeling  is  converted  into  a 
perception.1  In  like  manner,  some  form  of  wrong  or  evil 
may  be  felt  as  a  depressing  influence  long  before  it  is 
really  perceived ;  because  it  is  diffused,  and  no  one 
knows  its  extent  or  its  phases,  or  just  how  it  is  affecting 
other  persons  than  himself.  But  when  experiences  are 
compared,  and  when  each  man  begins  to  know  all  that 
his  fellows  know,  and  all  that  they  think,  about  the  mat¬ 
ter,  then  the  trouble  stands  forth  clearly  as  an  object  of 
perception  to  the  social  consciousness,  which  rapidly 
comes  to  a  judgment  upon  it.  Such  is  the  genesis  of  a 
true  public  opinion,  which  may  be  defined  as  the  judg¬ 
ment  of  a  self-conscious  community  upon  any  subject  of 
general  interest. 

The  genesis  of  public  opinion  obviously  depends  upon 
intellectual  contact  and  communication.  Where  inter¬ 
course  is  as  nearly  non-existent  as  it  is  among  the  Cum¬ 
berland  mountaineers  of  Tennessee,  there  is  no  public 
opinion.  Where  it  is  as  perfect  as  it  was  in  rural  New 
England  a  generation  ago,  public  opinion  may  reach  its 
highest  development.  Notwithstanding  a  scattering  dis¬ 
tribution  of  the  population,  every  family,  by  means  of  the 
church,  the  town-meeting,  the  lyceum,  and  the  newspaper, 
kept  itself  intelligently  informed  upon  all  events  of  inter¬ 
est  in  the  nation  and  in  the  world.  As  a  rule,  however, 
a  high  development  of  public  opinion  is  found  where 
population  is  relatively  dense.  Of  not  less  importance 
is  the  right  of  all  classes  to  initiate  discussion.  Where 
public  meetings  can  be  convened  only  by  administrative 
process  there  is  no  true  public  opinion.2  Therefore  in 

1  Cf.  De  Greef,  “  Introduction  &  la  sociologie,”  deuxifcme  partie,  p.  345. 

2  Cf.  Jephson,  “The  Platform.”  The  great  value  of  Jephson’s  work 
lies  in  the  clear  distinction  that  he  has  made  between  the  political  dis- 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


139 


societies  that  are  politically  organized  true  public  opinion 
is  dependent  upon  the  maintenance  of  liberal  constitutional 
government.  It  is  dependent  also  upon  the  general  diffu¬ 
sion  of  education,  and  upon  such  relations  of  justice  and 
sympathy  between  the  well-to-do  and  the  poor  that  in¬ 
genuous  expression  can  be  the  natural  habit  of  all  classes. 
The  spirit  rather  than  the  form  of  republicanism  is  nec¬ 
essary.  True  public  opinion  is  more  highly  developed  in 
England  than  in  France.  Fatal  to  it  is  the  semi-criminal 
democracy  that  has  disgraced  and  misgoverned  American 
cities.1 

Yet,  however  republican  in  spirit  a  community  may 
be,  and  however  intelligent  its  members,  its  public  opin¬ 
ion  is  moulded  in  some  degree  by  a  few  leading  minds. 
In  the  local  community  these  are  not  now  always  the  par¬ 
son,  the  squire,  and  the  doctor,  who  still  controlled  rural 
thinking  in  this  country  a  generation  ago.  In  many 
places  they  have  been  overshadowed  by  the  business  man, 
—  not  always  for  the  better.  A  public  opinion  of  larger 
dimensions  is  organized  by  public  meeting  and  the  press  ; 
but  these  are  guided  by  a  few  thoughtful,  or  manipulated 
by  a  few  clever,  men.  Probably  we  underestimate  the 
social  influence  of  the  thoughtful  man,  although  in  these 
days  of  reaction  against  hero-worship  and  idealism  there 
is  a  common  belief  to  the  contrary. 

The  press  became  an  important  organ  of  public  opinion 
during  the  anti-slavery  agitation  in  the  United  States. 
The  popular  notions,  that  the  press  has  now  submerged 
all  individual  influence  beneath  its  daily  deluge  of  imper- 

cussion  which  any  individual  faction  or  interest  can  now  initiate  in  a 
country  like  England  or  the  United  States  and  the  political  discussions 
which  only  a  century  and  a  half  ago  could  be  initiated  only  by  govern¬ 
mental  authorities. 

1  Eor  the  best  account  of  public  opinion  in  the  United  States,  see 
Bryce,  “The  American  Commonwealth,”  Part  IV.  Cf.  also  Jenks, 
“The  Guidance  of  Public  Opinion,”  The  American  Journal  of  Sociology , 
Vol.  I.,  No.  2,  September,  1895. 


140 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


sonal  advice,  and  that  it  has  superseded  the  platform  and 
the  pulpit,  are  demonstrably  erroneous.  The  press  has 
made  its  deepest  impression  upon  public  opinion  when  it 
has  been  the  mouthpiece  of  a  commanding  personality, 
—  a  Garrison,  a  Greeley,  a  Bowles,  or  a  Curtis.  Besides, 
the  public  does  not  realize  that  behind  the  curtain,  in  the 
newspaper  office,  the  man  of  ideas  who  is  unknown  to 
the  world  is  known  to  all  his  fellows  of  the  craft,  and 
stamps  his  individuality  upon  their  thought  and  their 
work. 

The  press,  moreover,  is  the  chief  organ  of  public  opinion 
only  in  quiet  times.  In  the  excitement  of  a  political 
campaign  that  earlier  organ,  the  platform,  renews  its  ac¬ 
tivity.  The  pulpit  has  doubtless  ceased  to  make  itself 
felt  in  public  affairs  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  it 
will  probably  long  continue  to  be  what  for  many  centuries 
it  has  been,  the  organ  of  reserved  power  for  moral  emer¬ 
gencies.  New  York  City,  aroused  to  civic  duty  by  the 
preaching  of  one  earnest  divine,  is  a  proof  that  it  is  not 
yet  too  late  in  human  history  to  witness  on  occasion  that 
power  of  the  pulpit  which  was  witnessed  in  the  days  of 
Savonarola,  of  Luther  and  of  Calvin,  of  Whitefield  and  of 
Wesley,  of  Parker  and  of  Channing. 

In  its  self-consciousness  a  community  has  a  living  bond 
of  union.  The  mutual  aid  and  protection  of  individuals, 
operating  in  an  unconscious  way,  are  no  longer  the  only 
means  that  preserve  social  cohesion  ;  the  community  feels 
and  perceives  its  unity.  This  feeling  of  unity  must  be 
destroyed  before  rupture  can  occur. 

But  even  self-consciousness  in  any  given  manifestation 
is  only  a  momentary  bond.  In  this  respect  it  is  inferior 
to  the  bond  of  mutual  aid.  It  acquires  continuity,  how¬ 
ever,  through  the  development  of  another  phase  of  the 
social  mind,  namely, — the  social  memory.  The  social 
memory  is  that  sum  of  transmitted  knowledge  and  beliefs 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


141 


which  is  known  as  tradition.  In  tradition,  the  relations, 
the  ideas,  and  the  usages  that  have  sprung  up  uncon¬ 
sciously  and  because  of  their  intrinsic  usefulness  have 
survived,  are  consciously  defined  and  memorized.  The 
garnered  experience  of  the  past  has  become  the  common 
possession  of  all  individuals.  Tradition  is  thus  the  in¬ 
tegration  of  the  public  opinion  of  many  generations. 

The  whole  body  of  tradition  is  differentiated  into  three 
great  orders  of  traditions,  and  these  are  differentiated 
into  particular  traditions,  which  correspond  to  the  varied 
interests  of  life.  The  primary  traditions  are  :  the  eco¬ 
nomic,  or  the  tradition  of  utilization  ;  the  juridical,  or  the 
tradition  of  toleration  ;  and  the  political,  or  the  tradition 
of  alliance,  homage,  and  obedience.  These  primary  tradi¬ 
tions  are  the  record  of  experiences  of  the  tangible  world. 
The  secondary  traditions  are  :  the  animistic  or  personal, 
the  aesthetic,  and  the  religious.  They  are  the  record  of 
impressions  of  an  intangible  world;  a  world  of  personal 
consciousness,  and  of  the  shadows,  images,  and  echoes  of 
tangible  things.  The  tertiary  traditions  are  the  theolog¬ 
ical,  the  metaphysical,  and  the  scientific.  They  are  the 
record  of  conceptual  thought. 

The  fundamental  primary  tradition  is  the  tradition  of 
utilization.  It  grows  out  of  the  relations  of  superiors  to 
human,  animal,  vegetable,  or  inorganic  inferiors  that  are 
appropriated  and  enjoyed  by  the  superiors,  or  are  pressed 
into  their  service.  It  is  accordingly  the  tradition  of 
subjective  and  objective  utilities,  and  of  the  methods  of 
increasing  utilities.  It  is  not  to  any  great  extent  a  con¬ 
scious  analysis  of  these  things.  The  tradition  is  on  the 
whole  concrete;  but  in  the  concrete  there  is  a  scale  of 
comparative  values.  Ideas  of  food,  shelter,  sexual  pleas¬ 
ure,  ornaments,  and  offspring  are  its  simplest  elements, 
and  the  ones  that  are  found  in  the  greatest  number  of 
individual  minds.  Then  comes  the  knowledge  of  such 
things  as  implements,  clothing,  gifts,  trade,  labour,  coopera- 


142 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


tion  and  methods  of  producing  and  using  objective  utili. 
ties.  All  this  economic  tradition  has  its  centre  in  the 
household,  but  in  the  civilized  world  it  extends  to  that 
elaborate  organization  of  manufactures  and  commerce 
which  has  been  differentiated  from  household  industry. 

Second  in  importance  among  the  primary  traditions  is 
the  tradition  of  toleration,  which  grows  out  of  relations  to 
antagonistic  equals.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  effective 
sanction  of  toleration  is  vengeance.  The  modes  of  ven¬ 
geance  and  the  phases  of  toleration  that  are  suitable  to 
different  circumstances,  are  named  and  described  in  rules 
of  custom,  which  formulate  those  enjoyments  and  immuni¬ 
ties  that  are  habitually  allowed.  Collectively  these  rules 
of  objective  and  sanctioned  right  form  the  jural  tradition, 
—  the  substance  of  the  common  law. 

The  third  primary  tradition  is  that  of  alliance  in  its 
political  form.  It  grows  out  of  relations  to  allies  and 
superiors.  Alliance  simply  as  a  fact  presupposes  some  of 
the  elements  of  subjective  utility  and  some  actual  toler¬ 
ation.  On  the  other  hand,  the  traditions  of  utility  and 
of  toleration,  as  distinguished  from  their  respective  phe¬ 
nomena,  presuppose  actual  alliance  in  simple  and  perhaps 
unconscious  forms.  But  again,  the  conscious  develop¬ 
ment  of  alliance,  or  its  extension,  to  bring  two  or  more 
bands,  hordes,  or  tribes  into  one  larger  aggregation,  pre¬ 
supposes  traditions  of  utility  and  of  toleration.  Purposive 
alliance  is  the  elementary  political  fact.  Its  motive  is  the 
desire  to  strengthen  the  traditions  of  utility  and  of  tolera¬ 
tion  by  an  obedience-compelling  power,  and  to  extend 
their  application.  The  political  tradition,  therefore,  is 
wrought  out  of  the  economic  and  jural  traditions,  and  in 
its  evolution  it  is  closely  interwoven  with  them. 

Some  slight  beginnings  of  the  primary  traditions,  espe¬ 
cially  of  the  economic  tradition,  may  be  observed  in  animal 
societies.  It  is  probable  that  much  “  instinct  ”  consists 
partly  of  tradition ;  that  it  is  knowledge  which  is  con- 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


143 


sciously  imparted  to  the  young  by  their  elders,  in  distinc¬ 
tion  from  aptitudes  that  are  transmitted  in  the  nervous 
organization  independently  of  individual  observation  and 
practice.  To  be  sure  that  such  arts  as  the  nest-building 
of  birds  and  the  hill-building  of  ants  are  wholly  instinctive 
it  would  be  necessary  to  remove  young  ones  from  their 
parents  and  from  all  other  adults  of  their  species  for  suc¬ 
cessive  generations,  and  to  see  if  they  then  continued  to 
build  in  the  usual  way  without  deviation  from  ancestral 
patterns.  That  within  two  or  three  generations  new 
knowledge  may  become  a  permanent  possession  of  an 
entire  species  seems  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  altered 
habits  of  birds  since  the  advent  of  telegraph  and  electric- 
light  wires,  and  by  the  ingenuity  of  hunted  animals  in 
baffling  the  new  devices  of  sportsmen.1  If  the  economic 
knowledge  of  animals  is  partly  traditional,  it  is  possible 
that  among  a  few  species  of  ants  certain  rules  of  tolera¬ 
tion  and  alliance  also  are  traditional. 

The  economic  tradition  is  found  in  all  human  societies. 
In  even  the  lowest  savage  bands  it  is  a  considerable  body 
of  knowledge  of  edible  and  medicinal  plants,  of  the  habits 
of  many  species  of  animals,  and  of  the  humbler  economic 
arts.  The  component  elements  of  the  legal  and  the  politi¬ 
cal  traditions  also  are  found  in  savagery.  The  traditions 
themselves  are  well  developed  in  barbarism,  but  they  are 
elaborately  developed  only  in  civilization. 

In  animal  societies  there  is  no  trace  of  the  secondary 
traditions,  but  they  are  found  in  all  human  societies. 
The  personal,  or  animistic,  tradition  is  the  sum  of  man’s 
beliefs  about  himself  as  consisting  of  body  and  soul. 
Among  savages  many  inanimate  objects  also  are  con¬ 
ceived  of  as  personal,  and  beliefs  about  their  supposed 
habits  and  powers  constitute  a  large  part  of  the  animistic 
tradition.  Among  the  civilized  the  tradition  of  per¬ 
sonality  consists  largely  of  beliefs  about  the  spiritual 
1  Tylor,  “Anthropology,”  p.  51. 


144 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


nature,  the  worthiness,  and  the  probable  destiny  of  the 
conscious  self.  The  aesthetic  tradition  consists  of  beliefs 
about  sounds  and  images,  as  means  of  personal  expression. 
The  savage  regards  the  shadow  or  image  as  a  veritable 
spiritual  essence,  the  echo  as  the  audible  voice  of  an 
unseen  soul.  The  civilized  man  has  ceased  to  regard 
sounds  and  forms  as  living  things  in  any  such  crude 
sense,  but  through  them,  in  music  and  in  the  plastic 
arts,  he  expresses  and  he  reads  the  subtlest  moods  of 
the  spirit.  The  religious  tradition  is  the  sum  of  beliefs 
about  the  continued  existence  of  the  soul  after  the  death 
of  the  body,  and  about  invisible  personal  powers,  from 
ghosts  to  gods,  which  are  supposed  to  govern  natural 
phenomena  and  to  control  human  destinies.  Savages 
think  that  the  world  is  peopled  with  spirits  of  the  dead. 
They  are  regarded  with  fear,  and  beliefs  about  them  are 
a  confused  web  of  superstition.  To  the  barbarian,  spirits 
are  of  various  ranks,  from  inferior  and  contemptible 
ghosts  to  powerful  gods,  who  usually  are  the  ghosts  of 
great  chieftains,  or  the  animating  spirits  of  awe-inspiring 
natural  objects.  In  civilized  lands  the  ignorant  still  be¬ 
lieve  in  ghosts,  and  a  majority  of  the  people  believe  in  the 
existence  of  personal  gods  or  of  one  omnipotent  God. 
They  are  mistaken  who  think  that  the  religious  tradition 
is  disappearing. 

The  traditions  of  conceptual  thought  —  the  tertiary 
traditions  —  are  found  only  in  civilization.  The  oldest  is 
the  theological  tradition,  which  was  created  by  an  elabo¬ 
rate  process  of  reasoning  and  speculation  upon  the  mate¬ 
rials  furnished  by  popular  religious  beliefs.  It  is  the  sum 
and  record  of  attempts  to  demonstrate  the  existence  of  a 
personal  God,  to  explain  his  nature  and  purposes,  and  to 
prove  that  he  created  and  providentially  governs  the  world 
and  man.  Metaphysical  tradition  has  been  derived  from 
the  theological.  It  refines  the  theological  explanation  of 
the  universe  by  interposing  “  secondary  causes,”  laws,  and 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


145 


principles  between  phenomena  and  their  ultimate  cause, 
the  fiat  of  God.  The  scientific  tradition  is  the  sum  of  our 
actual  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  man,  as  distin¬ 
guished  from  our  conjectures  about  them.  It  is  the  sifted 
record  of  observations,  experiments,  and  classifications. 
Making  no  attempt  to  penetrate  the  final  mystery  of  ex¬ 
istence,  it  explains  the  constitution  of  the  world  only  to 
the  extent  of  showing  how  one  thing  is  related  to  other 
things,  in  sequence  and  in  coexistence. 

Traditional  belief  is  ever  being  modified  by  new  thought; 
there  is  an  integration  of  tradition  with  current  opinion. 
The  results  are  variously  known  as  standards,  codes,  poli¬ 
cies,  ideals,  tastes,  faiths,  creeds,  and  “isms.” 

The  combination  of  economic  traditions  with  current 
economic  opinions  is  the  general  standard  of  living  of  the 
community.  This  term  has  been  used  loosely  by  economic 
writers.  For  example,  the  articles  that  a  labouring  class 
consumes  are  not  its  standard  of  living ;  they  are  merely 
an  index  of  its  standard.  Still  less  is  mere  desire  a  stand¬ 
ard.  The  labour  demagogue  has  not  necessarily  a  higher 
standard  of  living  than  his  followers  have  if  he  voices  an 
ineffectual  longing  for  the  earth,  which  they  do  not  feel. 
The  real  standard  of  living  is  a  certain  conception  of  eco¬ 
nomic  life,  which  regulates  desire  and  controls  conduct.1 
It  is  constituted  of  traditional  beliefs  and  of  new  ideas  in 
varying  proportions,  and  changes  as  these  factors  change. 
The  Hungarian  standard  of  living  in  the  coke-burning 
districts  of  Pennsylvania  is  not  lower  than  the  American 
standard  because  the  Hungarian  is  satisfied  with  food  and 
lodging  that  would  disgust  the  American,  but  rather  the 
Hungarian  is  so  easily  satisfied  because  his  standard  of 
living  is  lower. 

The  combination  of  jural  tradition  and  new  law  is  the 
legal  code.  To  what  extent  the  public  opinion  of  the 

1  Cf.  supra,  p.  335. 


146 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


hour,  not  yet  enacted  into  statute,  is  an  element  in  new 
law,  is  a  question  upon  which  jurists  disagree.  It  is 
admitted  that  public  opinion  influences  the  interpretation 
of  law,  and,  in  a  republic,  public  opinion  is  the  real  law- 
enforcing  power  back  of  all  nominal  powers.  For  the 
purposes  of  legal  theory  and  practice,  all  authoritatively 
declared  law  must  be  held  to  be  law  until  it  is  repealed, 
but  as  a  phenomenon  of  the  social  mind  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  rule  that  public  opinion  will  not  enforce 
is  really  law. 

The  combination  of  political  tradition  and  current  polit¬ 
ical  opinion  is  policy,  —  a  plan  or  programme  of  legislation 
and  administration.  In  quiet  times,  when  a  party  or  a  gov¬ 
ernment  has  been  long  intrenched  in  power,  the  element  of 
tradition  predominates.  For  twenty  years  after  the  Civil 
War  in  the  United  States  was  over,  the  Republican  party 
lived  on  war  issues,  and  it  was  finally  defeated  because  of 
its  inability  to  vitalize  its  policy  with  fresh  issues.  In  times 
of  disturbance  or  when  new  interests  clamour  for  attention, 
the  predominating  element  in  policy  is  current  opinion. 

New  thought  in  combination  with  the  tradition  of 
personality  creates  an  ideal.  The  product  of  the  aesthetic 
tradition  and  current  criticism  is  taste.  The  product  of 
traditional  religious  beliefs  and  current  religious  ideas 
is  a  faith.  The  modification  of  the  theological  tradition 
by  current  conceptions  is  a  creed.  The  modification  of 
the  metaphysical  tradition  by  current  speculation  is  an 
“ism.”  The  modification  of  the  scientific  tradition  by 
fresh  discoveries  has  and  needs  no  special  name,  for 
science  makes  no  compromises  between  the  old  and  the 
new.  Whatever  of  the  old  is  verified  by  later  research 
is  retained ;  whatever  is  disproved  is  discarded,  and  the 
net  result  is  truth. 

These  products  of  tradition  and  opinion  exist  only  in 
individual  minds.  Professor  Durkheim’s  argument  that 
because  they  can  be  committed  to  writing  they  are  inde- 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


147 


pendent  objective  realities  is  a  fallacy ; 1  the  written  page 
is  meaningless  apart  from  the  knowledge  of  the  living 
reader.  But  at  any  given  moment  they  exist  in  a  mul¬ 
titude  of  interacting  minds,  and  are  therefore  objective 
as  well  as  subjective  to  each  individual.  Upon  each 
mind  as  it  unfolds  they  are  imposed  from  without,  and 
are  sanctioned  by  penalties  for  disregard  or  disobedience, 
that  range  from  ridicule,  disapproval,  and  boycotting  to 
collective  force  or  vengeance. 

Through  the  channels  of  its  standards,  codes,  and  poli¬ 
cies  ;  of  its  ideals,  tastes,  and  faiths ;  of  its  creeds,  “isms,” 
and  investigations,  the  mental  life  of  society  flows  in  an 
ever-changing  distribution.  One  generation  is  absorbed 
in  political  concerns,  another  in  business  affairs.  At  one 
time  society  is  religious,  at  another  time  creative  and 
artistic,  at  yet  another  time  scientific.  Always,  however, 
a  tendency  towards  the  establishment  of  a  normal  equilib¬ 
rium  may  be  observed.  At  any  given  moment  traditional 
beliefs  and  current  opinions  assume  unlike  forms  in  dif¬ 
ferent  parts  of  the  population.  The  products  of  the 
social  mind  are  mutually  dependent.  This  is  the  social 
logic  in  its  highest  manifestation. 

Public  opinion,  tradition,  and  the  combinations  of  opin¬ 
ion  with  tradition,  are  intellectual  products  of  the  social 
mind.  In  constant  interaction  with  them  are  the  ever- 
changing  moods  of  desire.  In  combinations  of  the  intel¬ 
lectual  products  with  desires,  therefore,  there  is  a  final 
integration  of  the  elements  and  products  of  the  social  mind. 
The  resulting  final  products  are  the  social  estimates  of 
things  that  are  socially  important.  They  are  social  values, 
and  are  analogous  to  the  subjective  values  of  the  individual 
mind. 

The  consciousness  of  kind  being  the  psychological  basis 
of  social  phenomena,  it  follows  that  the  supreme  object 
1  “  Les  rfegles  de  la  m^thode  sociologique,”  Chap.  I. 


148 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  social  value  is  the  kind  itself,  or  the  type  of  conscious 
life  that  is  characteristic  of  the  society.  Each  nation 
supremely  values  its  own  characteristic  qualities,  and  it  is 
this  social  self-valuation  that  we  call  national  prejudice. 
It  is  the  essence  of  the  Briton’s  love  of  things  British,  of 
the  American’s  pride  in  things  American.  To  some  extent 
the  physical  and  the  moral  traits  of  the  social  type  are 
valued  separately.  The  Greeks  took  an  especial  pride  in 
the  lines  of  the  Greek  form,  the  Hebrews  an  especial  pride 
in  the  righteousness  that  exalted  their  nation.  As  in  each 
politically  organized  nation,  so  in  each  race,  nationality, 
local  community,  family,  class,  clique,  and  circle,  it  is  the 
kind  or  type  that  is  chiefly  valued. 

Next  to  the  type  in  social  value  is  the  social  cohesion. 
The  existence  of  a  society  depends  on  its  unity,  and  when 
its  integrity  is  threatened  the  community  shows  itself  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  that  may  be  necessary  to  save  union. 
The  most  splendid  examples  of  social  feeling  have  been 
the  patriotic  enthusiasms  that  have  been  aroused  by  the 
threatened  disruption  of  nations.  As  a  bond  of  cohesion, 
loyalty  is  socially  valued  in  every  community  in  which 
social  feeling  is  normally  developed.  Where  spontaneous 
loyalty  fails  a  high  value  is  attached  to  such  makeshifts 
as  bribery,  patronage,  and  coercion. 

Third  in  the  order  of  social  value  are  the  distinctive 
possessions  and  proprieties  of  the  community.  First  among 
these  is  territory,  which  is  regarded  with  feelings  that 
range  from  mere  pride  in  the  extent  and  resources  of  a 
national  domain,  to  an  abiding  affection  for  a  fatherland. 
In  strongly  religious  societies,  and  especially  in  those  that 
have  not  emerged  from  barbarism,  sacred  places  are  de¬ 
voutly  valued.  The  holy  mountain,  —  the  Sinai  or  Olym¬ 
pus, —  the  sacred  river,  the  pool  of  divine  healing,  are  held 
in  veneration.  Among  the  most  prized  possessions  of 
every  nation  are  its  leaders,  heroes,  saints,  and  gods. 
Hardly  less  valued  are  its  ceremonies  and  costumes,  its 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


149 


manners  and  morals,  its  laws,  worships,  and  amusements. 
The  Greek’s  pride  of  possession  in  the  Olympic  games, 
the  Hindoo’s  in  the  law  of  Manu,  the  Israelite’s  in  the  law 
of  Moses,  the  Roman’s  in  the  Twelve  Tables,  and  the 
Englishman’s  in  the  common  law,  are  among  the  best  ex¬ 
amples  of  social  values.  It  is  unnecessary  to  show  in 
detail  that  the  social  valuation  of  common  possessions 
and  proprieties  is  but  a  manifestation  of  the  consciousness 
of  kind.  Gods  and  heroes  are  members  of  the  community 
and  are  the  best  exemplifications  of  its  typical  moral  quali¬ 
ties.  Ceremonies  and  costumes,  manners  and  morals,  are 
distinguishing  marks  and  habits  of  the  type.  Laws,  wor¬ 
ships,  and  amusements  are  the  enduring  expressions  of  its 
character. 

Last  in  the  order  of  importance  and  of  evolution  are 
the  social  values  attaching  to  certain  abstract  conditions 
that  are  favourable  to  social  integrity  and  development, 
and  to  certain  modes  of  effort  that  are  intended  to  extend 
or  to  perfect  the  social  type.  The  conditions  are  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity.  As  Fitz- James  Stephen  has  brill¬ 
iantly  demonstrated,1  these  three  conditions  are  to  some 
extent  incompatible.  Perfect  liberty  and  perfect  equality 
cannot  coexist.  When  they  are  equally  valued,  the  value 
of  each  must  be  rigorously  subordinated  to  higher  values, 
or  the  result  will  be  the  anarchy  of  revolution.  Gener¬ 
ally,  however,  they  are  not  equally  valued.  For  the  sake 
of  social  cohesion  and  of  the  homogeneity  of  the  social 
type,  liberty  is  partially  sacrificed  to  certain  modes  of 
equality  —  or  to  equality  in  respect  of  certain  things  ; 
while  for  the  sake  of  progress  other  modes  of  equality  are 
sacrificed  to  liberty.  The  modes  of  effort  are  missionary 
effort,  philanthropy,  and  education.  These  characteristic 
manifestations  of  the  modern  spirit  are  an  expression  of 
the  passion  of  the  highest  social  types  to  extend  them¬ 
selves  among  the  lower  races,  and  among  the  poor,  the 
unfortunate,  and  the  ignorant. 

1  “Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity.” 


150 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  order  in  which  the  social  values  have  been  named 
is  the  normal  scale  of  their  relative  importance,  but  the 
actual  valuations  made  by  the  social  mind  are  often  aber¬ 
rant.  Social  utilities  are  often  wrongly  placed  in  the 
scale.  Among  social  utilities  there  is  a  relation  which 
corresponds  to  the  relation  of  producers’  goods  to  con¬ 
sumers’  goods  in  business  values.  All  objects  of  social 
value,  except  the  social  type,  are  but  means  to  an  end. 
The  type  is  the  end  for  which  social  cohesion,  social 
possessions,  and  conditions  are  maintained ;  as  consumers’ 
goods  are  the  end  for  which  the  instruments  of  production, 
the  mechanism  of  exchange,  the  organization  of  labour, 
and  certain  necessary  legal  conditions,  are  maintained. 
But  as  men  of  inferior  mental  powers  easily  fall  into  the 
habit  of  valuing  producers’  goods  —  especially  money  and 
credit  —  for  their  own  sake,  and  so  create  false  systems 
of  political  economy,  so  do  many  classes  in  the  community 
habitually  value  social  possessions  and  institutions  as  ends 
in  themselves.  This  is  a  feature  of  all  conservatism.  It 
is  exemplified  in  the  jurist’s  apotheosis  of  law,  in  the 
politician’s  sacrifice  of  patriotism  to  partisanship,  and  in 
the  ecclesiastic’s  tendency  to  regard  his  church  as  the 
end  for  which  the  divine  economy  exists. 

Social  values  are  the  grounds  of  rational  social  choice. 
They  determine  the  social  will  in  so  far  as  its  action  is 
deliberate. 

In  recognizing  the  deliberate  action  of  the  social  mind 
I  am  of  course  by  implication  rejecting  the  conclusion  of 
those  who  hold  that  the  social  mind  never  acts  rationally, 
or  that  its  action  at  the  best  must  be  less  rational  than  is 
that  of  individuals.  M.  Le  Bon  argues  that  unconscious 
action,  passion,  and  sentiment  predominate  in  the  crowd, 
because  individuals  differ  less  in  feeling  than  in  intelli¬ 
gence.1  His  conclusion  is  beyond  doubt  true  of  crowds 

1  Op.  cit pp.  16,  17. 


THE  SOCIAL  MIND 


151 


in  the  usual  English  meaning  of  the  word,  hut  M.  Le  Bon 
gives  a  wide  extension  to  foule ,  and  makes  it  cover  not 
only  a  number  of  persons  congregated  in  one  place,  but 
also  any  class  of  persons  that  communicate  about  their 
common  interests.  Of  associations  in  this  latter  sense  his 
conclusion  will  not  always  hold  good.  In  the  prolonged 
deliberations  of  a  group  of  men  that  alternately  meet  and 
separate,  or  that  communicate  without  meeting,  the  highest 
thought  of  the  most  rational  mind  among  them  may  prevail. 

Alternate  meeting  and  separation  is,  in  fact,  the  one 
essential  condition  of  true  social  deliberation.  For  the 
social  mind  is  far  from  being,  as  M.  Le  Bon  attempts  to 
prove,1  very  unlike  the  individual  mind  in  its  operations. 
It  is  astonishingly  like  the  individual  mind,  and  in  no 
respect  more  so  than  in  its  rational  processes.  When  the 
individual  deliberates  he  permits  new  ideas  to  interpose 
themselves  between  suggestion  and  act,  or  between  hy¬ 
pothesis  and  judgment.  He  diverts  his  attention,  as  he 
says,  which  simply  means  that  he  breaks  the  continuity  of 
idea  and  impulse  by  opening  the  mind  to  new  influences. 
Time  and  new  associations  are  necessary  to  deliberation. 
If  the  social  mind  would  deliberate  it  must  follow  a 
similar  course.  The  spell  that  holds  the  crowd  must  be 
broken.  The  orientation  of  its  thought  must  be  disturbed  ; 
the  catch-word  fetiches  must  cease  to  hypnotize.  To 
this  end  the  crowd  must  disperse ;  the  assembly  must 
adjourn ;  the  legislator  must  now  and  then  go  back  to 
his  constituents.  When  this  is  done  the  social  mind  may 
deliberate  as  rationally  as  the  individual  mind. 

That  it  does  so  deliberate  in  fact,  we  have  positive 
proof  in  the  scores  of  examples  of  popular  decisions 
arrived  at  after  years  of  agitation  and  discussion,  such  as 
the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws  in  England  in  1849,  the  abo¬ 
lition  of  slavery  in  the  United  States  in  1865,  the  anti¬ 
polygamy  legislation  of  1862  to  1887,  the  divorce  legisla- 

1  Op.  cit pp.  15  sq. 


152 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


tion  of  France  in  1884,  the  repeal  of  the  Federal  election 
laws  in  1894,  and  the  steady  progress  of  civil  service  reform. 

The  importance  of  time  and  of  new  points  of  view  in 
social  deliberation  is  the  scientific  justification  of  the 
checks  and  balances  in  our  system  of  government ;  espe¬ 
cially  the  independence  of  the  judiciary  and  the  constitu¬ 
tion-interpreting  power  of  the  Supreme  Court.  Checks 
and  balances  have  no  merit  in  themselves,  but  they  are  a 
successfully  working  mechanism  to  secure  the  deliberate 
instead  of  the  passionate  action  of  the  social  mind. 

In  its  deliberate  action  the  social  mind  not  only  imposes 
its  standards,  codes,  policies,  faiths,  and  creeds  upon  indi¬ 
viduals  ;  it  acts  also  upon  the  groupings  of  individuals 
which  have  grown  up  more  or  less  unconsciously  and  upon 
various  relations  of  mutual  aid.  Sanctioning  some  group¬ 
ings  and  relations,  opposing  others,  it  shapes  the  social 
organization.1 

1  Cf.  Bosanquet,  “The  Reality  of  the  General  Will,”  International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Yol.  IV.,  No.  3,  April,  1893. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 

In  the  organization  of  society  by  composition  individ¬ 
uals  of  both  sexes  are  first  combined  in  small  groups. 
The  small  groups  are  combined  in  larger  groups,  and 
these  in  groups  yet  larger.  Each  complete  small  group, 
and  therefore  every  larger  group,  contains  individuals  of 
more  than  one  generation.  The  childless  union  of  male 
and  female  is  an  incomplete  group,  —  socially  no  less  than 
physiologically  abortive.  Accordingly  each  group  is  in 
a  measure  a  product  of  genetic  aggregation.  It  might, 
therefore,  live  independently  of  other  groups,  perpetuate 
itself,  and  grow  to  larger  dimensions.  Whether  small  or 
large,  each  group  is  composed  of  elements  that  are  less 
like  each  other  than  any  one  group  as  such  is  like  any 
other  group  of  similar  composition.  For  example,  father, 
mother,  and  child  in  any  given  type  of  the  family  are 
more  unlike  than  are  two  families  of  the  same  type.  The 
inhabitants  of  any  given  town  in  which  are  found  different 
nationalities,  different  ages,  different  abilities,  characters, 
and  tastes,  are  more  unlike  than  are  neighbouring  towns. 
The  inhabitants  of  each  commonwealth  of  the  American 
Union  differ  more  among  themselves  than  do  the  common¬ 
wealths.  Thus  each  group  has,  on  the  whole,  the  same 
characteristics  and  lives  in  much  the  same  way  as  any 
other  group  of  similar  composition  and  dimensions. 
Therefore  such  groups  mutually  aid  and  supplement 
each  other  only  in  power  and  mass,  not  by  division 
of  labour. 


153 


154 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  groupings  of  the  social  composition  are  natural 
products  of  the  physiological  and  psychological  activities 
of  individuals,  supplemented  by  natural  selection.  They 
arise  unconsciously,  and  their  prevailing  forms  are  es¬ 
tablished  by  unconscious  adaptation  to  the  conditions  of 
life  before  the  social  mind  begins  to  reflect  upon  them. 
All  this  is  true  of  both  animal  and  human  groups. 
Presently,  however,  in  human  society  the  social  mind 
reflects  upon  the  composition  and  form  of  the  natural 
groups,  and  discovers  that  it  prefers  some  arrangements 
to  others.  Conscious  selections  and  adaptations  follow. 
All  human  groupings,  therefore,  have  to  adapt  themselves 
not  only  to  physical  conditions  but  also  to  the  social 
mind.  They  are  still  natural  products  of  individual 
habits,  but  they  are  artificially  modified  by  the  social 
self-consciousness  which  chooses  and  sanctions. 

Not  much  social  composition  is  found  among  animals 
below  the  birds.  Nearly  all  birds,  however,  live  in  fam¬ 
ilies.  The  male  helps  the  female  in  building  the  nest,  in 
protecting  the  offspring,  and  in  providing  food.  In  his 
enthusiastic  admiration  of  their  affectionate  domestic  life, 
Brehm  declared  that  genuine  marriage  could  be  found 
only  among  birds.1  Not  all  mammals  form  family  groups, 
though  maternal  affection  is  strongly  developed  in  all 
species.  In  some  of  the  more  sociable  species,  however, 
the  male  continues  to  live  with  the  female  as  provider  or 
protector  after  the  birth  of  the  young.  This  is  true  of 
whales,  seals,  and  hippopotami  ;  of  squirrels  and  moles  ; 
and  of  reindeer,  gazelles,  and  some  other  small  ante¬ 
lopes.2  It  is  among  the  quadrumana,  however,  that 
animal  family  life  attains  its  highest  development.  All 
observers  testify  that  the  family  instinct  of  the  orang- 

1  “  Thierleben,”  Bd.  IV.,  p.  20. 

9  See  Westermarck,  “  The  History  of  Human  Marriage,”  p.  12,  and  the 
authorities  there  cited. 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


155 


utan,  the  gorilla,  and  the  chimpanzee  is  of  almost  human 
strength. 

All  human  beings,  from  the  lowest  savages  to  civilized 
men,  live  in  family  groups.  The  simplest  form  of  the 
human  family  is  a  pairing  arrangement  of  relatively  short 
duration.  One  of  the  best  examples  is  found  among  the 
Mincopis,  where  the  father  lives  with  the  mother  until 
after  their  child  is  weaned,  and  then  seeks  another  wife.1 
A  somewhat  more  stable  but  seldom  lifelong  pairing 
family  is  found  among  the  Blackfellows  of  Australia,2 
the  northern  Eskimo  of  Greenland,3  the  Amazonian  Ind¬ 
ians  of  Brazil,4  and  in  various  other  low  savage  tribes. 
Among  savages  generally,  desertion,  divorce,  and  remar¬ 
riage  are  extremely  frequent. 

The  polyandrian  family,  in  which  a  woman  has  several 
husbands,  is  found  in  very  many  parts  of  the  world, 
usually  in  tribes  that  have  passed  beyond  savagery  into 
barbarism.  Polyandry  is  of  two  well-marked  types, 
which  are  known  among  ethnologists  as  Nair  polyandry 
and  Tibetan  polyandry.  In  Nair  polyandry,  as  found  in 
southeastern  India,  a  woman’s  husbands  are  not  related 
to  one  another.  In  Tibetan  polyandry  the  husbands  are 
brothers.  Tibetan  polyandry  is  the  commoner  form. 
Polyandry  existed  until  recently  in  Ceylon  ;  it  has  but 
lately  disappeared  from  New  Zealand ;  it  existed  not 
long  ago  in  New  Caledonia  and  elsewhere  in  the  Pacific 
islands  ;  it  is  found  in  the  Aleutian  islands  ;  among  the 
Koryaks  north  of  the  Okhotsk,  and  among  the  Saporogian 
Cossacks.  Humboldt  observed  it  among  the  Indian  tribes 
on  the  Orinoco  ;  it  was  common  in  the  Canary  islands  ; 
in  Africa  it  has  been  found  among  the  Hottentots,  among 

1  Belcher,  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society  of  London ,  New 
Series,  Vol.  V.,  1867,  p.  45. 

2  Lumholtz,  “Among  Cannibals,”  pp.  127,  162. 

8  Personal  statements  made  to  me  by  members  of  Peary  expeditions. 

*  Spix  and  Martius,  “  Travels  in  Brazil,”  Vol.  II.,  pp.  246-248. 


156 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


the  Damaras,  and  among  mountain  tribes  of  the  Bantu 
race.  Traces  of  it  remain  among  the  Hovas  of  Mada¬ 
gascar.  That  it  formerly  prevailed  among  the  Piets  and 
Irish  is  certain,  and  there  are  many  evidences  of  its  former 
occasional  existence  in  other  Aryan  stocks,  and  through¬ 
out  the  Semitic  and  the  Hamitic  races.1 

A  form  of  the  family  that  was  common  in  the  Hawaiian 
Islands  when  they  were  first  invaded  by  whites,  is  called 
by  its  Hawaiian  name,  punaluan.  It  is  constituted 
by  the  marriage  of  a  group  of  brothers  to  a  group  of 
sisters,  each  woman  being  a  wife  to  all  the  men  and  each 
man  a  husband  to  all  the  women.  This  form  still  exists 
among  the  Todas  of  India. 

The  polygynous  family,  constituted  by  the  cohabitation 
of  one  man  with  two  or  more  wives  or  concubines,  is  even 
more  general  than  polyandry.  It  is  seldom,  however, 
the  only  family  form  in  any  tribe  or  nation.  Depending, 
as  it  does,  upon  the  ability  of  the  husband  to  support  a 
large  domestic  establishment,  it  often  coexists  with  other 
arrangements,  the  well-to-do  classes  being  polygynous, 
while  the  poorer  classes  are  obliged  to  content  themselves 
with  monogamy  or  with  polyandry.  Polygyny  is  by  no 
means  confined  to  savage  and  barbarian  communities. 
It  flourishes  in  China  and  in  Turkey,  and  it  has  only 
recently  ceased  to  be  a  legal  form  of  marriage  in  one  of 
the  territories  of  the  United  States.  Illegally  and  secretly, 
it  exists  in  every  American  commonwealth  and  in  every 
European  state. 

The  only  form  of  the  family  that  is  now  legally  sanc¬ 
tioned  in  Christian  nations  is  monogamy,  which  is  the 
union  of  one  husband  and  one  wife,  in  the  expectation 
and  promise  that  the  marriage  will  be  of  lifelong  dura¬ 
tion.  Actually,  however,  divorce  is  nearly  everywhere 
allowed  for  various  causes,  and  the  monogamous  family 
is  often  unstable.  In  recent  years,  divorce  has  been 

1  McLennan,  “  Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  pp.  97  sq. 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


157 


rapidly  increasing  in  the  United  States  and  in  Europe. 
Reasons  for  believing  that  the  phenomenon  is  temporary, 
and  that  a  more  stable  form  of  the  monogamous  family 
is  developing,  will  be  presented  in  another  chapter.1 

Human  societies  composed  of  families  combined  in 
larger  aggregates  are  of  two  types,  —  the  ethnical  and  the 
demotic.  Ethnical  societies  are  genetic  aggregations ; 
a  real  or  fictitious  blood-kinship  is  their  chief  social  bond. 
Demotic  societies  are  congregate  associations.  They  are 
groups  of  people  that  are  bound  together  by  habitual 
intercourse,  mutual  interests,  and  cooperation,  with  little 
or  no  regard  to  origins  or  to  genetic  relationships. 

Among  ethnical  societies  must  be  classed  all  communi¬ 
ties  from  the  smallest  savage  hordes  or  bands  up  to  but 
not  including  the  civil  states  that  have  become  perma¬ 
nently  established  on  a  defined  territory  and  have  entered 
upon  that  extensive  development  of  the  social  constitution 
which  is  associated  with  a  systematic  and  diversified  com¬ 
merce,  a  multiplication  of  industrial  arts  and  vocations, 
and  a  division  of  the  population  into  well-marked  social 
classes.  At  present  every  form  of  social  composition 
may  be  studied  comparatively  in  actually  existing  com¬ 
munities. 

The  existing  ethnical  societies  may  roughly  he  disposed 
in  three  great  classes,  according  to  the  degree  of  social 
composition  to  which  they  have  attained. 

In  the  lowest  class  are  small  hordes,  each  of  which  is 
composed  of  a  few  families,  and  comprises  usually  not  more 
than  from  twenty -five  to  one  hundred  persons.  No  such 
horde  is  found  living  beyond  the  reach  of  communication 
with  other  similar  hordes  of  the  same  race,  language,  and 
culture.  Under  the  influence  of  excitement  or  fear,  or 
to  share  an  unusual  food  supply,  or  for  the  purpose  of 
migration,  such  hordes  may  temporarily  congregate  in 

1  See  supra ,  p.  414  sq. 


158 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


large  numbers.  But  they  do  not  permanently  combine 
with  one  another  under  the  leadership  of  a  common  chief 
for  military  or  political  action,  nor  is  there  any  organiza¬ 
tion,  religious  or  industrial  for  example,  that  binds  them 
together  in  a  larger  whole. 

In  the  second  class  are  all  societies  in  which  several 
hordes  have  become  welded  into  a  larger  and  more  defi¬ 
nitely  organized  community,  occupying  a  defined  terri¬ 
tory,  speaking  one  language  or  dialect,  and  conscious  of  its 
unity ;  or  in  which  a  single  horde,  grown  to  many  times 
its  original  size,  has  become  differentiated  and  organized. 
The  smallest  united  and  organized  society  which  is  com¬ 
posed  of  lesser  social  groups  that  are  themselves  larger 
than  single  families,  is  a  tribe. 

In  the  third  class  are  all  coherent  aggregations  or  con¬ 
federations  of  tribal  communities  which  have  not  yet 
developed  the  social  constitution  on  the  commercial,  indus¬ 
trial,  and  intellectual  side,  and  have  not  yet  become  civil 
societies  —  that  is,  municipal  or  national  states.  A  co¬ 
herent  aggregation  or  confederation  of  tribes  is  a  folk,  or 
ethnic  nation. 

It  is  necessary  to  distinguish  between  two  very  different 
types  of  ethnical  organization,  one  of  which  is  obviously 
much  older  than  the  other.  The  older  may  be  named 
the  metronymic.  In  a  metronymic  group  all  relation¬ 
ships  are  traced  through  mothers  ;  paternal  relationships 
are  ignored.  Every  metronymic  social  group  is  named 
from  some  class  of  natural  objects,  such  as  a  species  of 
plants  or  of  animals,  which  is  thought  of  as  feminine  in 
gender,  and  from  which  the  group  is  supposed  to  have 
sprung.1  A  class  of  objects  so  regarded  is  known  among 
ethnologists  as  a  totem,  which  is  approximately  its  Ameri¬ 
can  Indian  name.  The  totem  is  worshipped  as  a  protect¬ 
ing  being  and  is  itself  protected  by  the  group  from  harm. 
The  later  type  of  social  organization  may  be  called  patro- 

1  See  Frazer,  “Totemism.” 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


159 


nymic.  Each  patronymic  group  is  named  from  a  real 
or  fictitious  male  ancestor,  and  relationships  are  traced 
in  the  male  line,  through  fathers.  Each  of  these  group 
types,  again,  may  be  observed  in  an  early  and  simple  form, 
in  which  a  single  tribe  is  the  largest  social  organization, 
and  in  a  later,  compound  form,  in  which  several  tribes 
are  confederated  and  at  length  are  consolidated  into  a  folk. 

Of  groups  or  clusters  of  hordes  that  are  not  yet  com¬ 
pacted  into  tribes,  but  which  sustain  to  each  other  relations 
that  modify  the  character  and  constitution  of  each  horde, 
there  are  examples  in  the  Veddahs  of  Ceylon,  the  Min- 
copis  of  the  Andaman  islands  in  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  the 
Australian  Blackfellows,  the  Bushmen  of  South  Africa, 
the  Fuegians  of  Tierra  del  Fuego,  the  Innuit  of  the  north¬ 
eastern  and  northwestern  coasts  of  North  America,  the 
Utes  of  the  Rocky  mountains,  and  the  Indians  of  the 
Amazonian  forests. 

Of  these,  the  Mincopis  live  in  migratory  societies  of 
thirty  or  forty  persons  each,  but  they  are  capable  of  com¬ 
bining  in  considerable  numbers  to  attack  strangers.  The 
Bushmen  are  scattered  over  a  large  area  and  are  divided 
into  wandering  societies  of  from  ten  to  fifty  or  one  hun¬ 
dred  persons  each.  The  Fuegians  include  a  total  popula¬ 
tion  of  some  2000  individuals.  They  live  in  hordes  of 
thirty  to  forty  persons  each,  formed  by  the  union  of  a  few 
families.  Darwin  says1  that  these  hordes  have  no  gov¬ 
ernments  and  speak  different  dialects.  The  Innuit  live 
in  very  small  settlements  of  a  few  igloos  each  (an  igloo 
containing  sometimes  several  families)  and  totally  devoid 
of  any  kind  of  government. 

The  Australian  hordes  are  not  larger  than  those  de¬ 
scribed  above,  but  they  seem  to  have  more  intercourse. 
For  generations  each  horde  has  obtained  wives  by  capture 
from  other  hordes.  The  hordes  are  therefore  practically 

*  “Journal  of  Researches,”  Vol.  III.,  p.  236. 


160 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


exogamous.  Relationship  is  traced  through  mothers,  and 
totemic  signs  bind  together  considerable  numbers  of  men 
and  women  who,  ignoring  kinship  on  the  father’s  side, 
regard  themselves  as  of  the  blood  of  the  mother.  These 
totemic  kindreds  are  strictly  exogamous.  All  the  men 
and  women  of  such  a  kindred  regard  themselves  as 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  a  man  may  not  marry  his  totemic 
sister.  Yet  they  are  not  always,  if  ever,  composed  exclu¬ 
sively  of  real  kindred,  actual  relatives  in  blood.  With 
mystic  rites  a  stranger  may  be  adopted  into  the  kindred. 

Inasmuch  as  women  are  constantly  being  stolen  or  are 
voluntarily  going  from  one  horde  to  another,  and  as  de¬ 
scent  is  reckoned  through  mothers,  it  follows  that  each 
local  horde  contains  representatives  of  many  totemic  kin¬ 
dreds,  and  that  the  members  of  each  totemic  kindred  are 
scattered  through  many  local  hordes.  In  fact,  not  a  few 
of  the  kobongs,  as  they  are  called,1  may  be  traced  from 
one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other.2  The  members  of 
a  kobong  are  bound  to  defend  and  redress  each  other,  and 
therefore  when  a  quarrel  breaks  out  men  in  the  same  local 
group  are  arrayed  against  each  other.3 

Each  horde  is  thus  heterogeneous.  In  some  cases 
members  of  a  single  kobong  strongly  predominate  in  a 
particular  horde.  In  either  case  the  horde  is  by  this  dif¬ 
ferentiation  into  exogamous  kindreds  very  greatly  modi¬ 
fied  in  composition  from  such  an  almost  undifferentiated 
horde  as  that  of  the  Arctic  highlanders  ;  and  the  modi¬ 
fication  is  due  to  the  warlike  or  peaceful  intercourse  of 
horde  with  horde. 

Of  the  metronymic  tribe,  which  is  a  united,  cooperat¬ 
ing  group  large  enough  to  be  the  result  of  a  consolidation 
of  several  hordes,  —  such  a  group  as  would  be  formed  if 

1  Starcke,  p.  22. 

2  Robertson  Smith,  “  Kinship  in  Arabia,”  p.  226. 

8  McLennan,  “  Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  pp.  90  sq. 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


161 


several  Australian  hordes  should  draw  together  and  de¬ 
velop  a  permanent  organization, — the  best  examples  were 
found  until  recently  among  the  North  American  Indians. 
The  Indian  tribe  was  differentiated  into  exogamous  to- 
temic  kindreds.  If  the  same  totemic  kindred  was  repre¬ 
sented  in  more  than  one  tribe,  it  indicated  some  historical 
relationship  of  the  tribes,  usually  a  splitting  of  one  origi¬ 
nal  tribe  into  two  or  more  later  tribes.  Each  totemic 
kindred  was  related  to  all  other  totemic  kindreds  in  the 
tribe.  Each  had  certain  governing  arrangements,  in¬ 
cluding  a  council,  a  sachem,  or  peace  officer,  and  a  war 
chief.  Sometimes  the  offices  of  sachem  and  chief  were 
united  in  one  person.  The  tribe  had  also  a  governing 
council,  consisting  of  the  chiefs  of  the  totemic  kindreds. 

A  tribe  usually  claimed  a  large  territory,  within  which 
its  members  might  roam  in  hunting  and  fishing,  and  within 
which  they  lived  in  small  villages  that  were  usually  placed 
on  the  shore  of  a  lake  or  bay,  by  a  waterfall,  or  at  the 
mouth  of  a  creek  which  flowed  into  a  larger  stream. 

Even  the  smaller  tribes  often  included  several  villages. 
For  example,  the  small  Algonquin  tribe  of  Wepauaugs  or 
Potatucks,  which  in  1639  claimed  the  Housatonic  and 
Naugatuck  valleys  of  western  Connecticut,  from  Long 
Island  Sound  to  the  Massachusetts  line,  were  settled  at 
that  time  in  three  places,  namely,  where  now  are  the 
towns  of  Milford,  Stratford,  and  Derby  ;  and  probably 
also  at  other  places  farther  to  the  northwest,  including 
Weantinock  and  Metichawan,  where  New  Milford  is  now, 
and  Scatacook  in  Kent ;  for  the  latter  settlements  were 
found  when  the  whites  first  penetrated  to  that  region. 
After  selling  their  lands  at  Stratford  and  Milford,  the 
Indians  of  those  villages  moved  up  the  Housatonic  valley 
and  established  at  least  four  villages  in  the  region  between 
Derby  and  New  Milford ;  namely,  Wesquantook,  now 
Squantuk,  Potatuck  in  Huntington,  Potatuck  in  Newtown, 
and  Pomeraug  in  Woodbury. 


162 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Within  this  region,  and  farther  to  the  north  and  west, 
bands  were  continually  migrating  from  one  settlement  to 
another,  and  back  again  to  the  first ;  but  the  signatures 
on  deeds  of  land  conveyed  to  the  whites  prove  that  they 
all  belonged  to  one  tribe,  and  that  they  spoke  the  same 
dialect  and  acknowledged  the  military  authority  of  one 
head  chief,  whose  seat,  in  the  earlier  period,  was  the 
“Great  Neck,”  at  the  junction  of  the  Naugatuck  and 
Housatonic  rivers,  and  in  the  later  period  was  Metichawan 
at  the  junction  of  the  Still  and  Housatonic  rivers.1  The 
Potatucks  were  thus  an  admirable  and  a  typical  example 
of  a  true  tribe,  as  distinguished  from  a  mere  horde  or 
band. 

Other  Algonquin  tribes,  as  the  Narragansetts  or  the 
Delawares,  exhibit  the  principle  of  distinction  equally 
well,  as  do  also  such  Dakotah  tribes  as  the  Sioux,  the 
Omahas,  the  Poncas,  and  the  Crows,  and  such  Athabascans 
as  the  Apaches  and  Navajoes. 

Wentworth  Greenhalge,  who  made  an  adventurous  jour¬ 
ney  westward  from  Albany  through  the  Iroquois  country 
from  May  20  to  July  14,  1677,  found  the  Mohawks  living 
in  five  villages.  The  smallest  contained  but  ten  houses, 
the  largest  thirty.  One  consisted  of  twenty-four  houses 
and  each  of  the  remaining  two  of  sixteen  houses.  The 
Oneidas  had  but  one  settlement,  of  about  one  hundred 
houses,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  Oneidas  were 
a  new  tribe  split  off  from  the  Mohawks.  The  Onondagas 
had  one  large  settlement  of  one  hundred  and  forty  houses 
and  a  smaller  one  of  twenty-four.  The  Cayugas  had  three 
villages  about  a  mile  apart,  comprising  in  all  one  hundred 
houses.  The  Senecas  had  four  villages  :  the  largest  con¬ 
tained  one  hundred  and  fifty  houses  ;  the  next  in  size, 
thirty  miles  distant,  contained  one  hundred  and  twenty 
houses.  Four  or  five  miles  distant  from  each  of  these 

1  Orcutt,  “The  Indians  of  the  Housatonic  and  the  Naugatuck 
Valleys.” 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


163 


was  a  smaller  village,  one  of  thirty,  the  other  of  twenty- 
four  houses.1 

Examples  of  metronymic  tribes  in  other  parts  of  the 
world  are  the  two  tribes  of  the  Damaras  in  South  Africa,2 
the  Congo  tribes  of  West  Africa,3  the  Inland  negroes,4 
the  Kasias  of  Bengal,5  the  Tahitians6  and  Tongans7  of 
Polynesia,  and  the  Hovas  of  Madagascar.8 

Examples  of  the  metronymic  folk,  or  tribal  nation,  are 
afforded  by  the  Tongans,  the  Malagasy,  and  the  Iroquois 
tribes  above  mentioned. 

The  Iroquois  confederacy  included  the  five  tribes  named, 
and  later  a  sixth,  the  Tuscaroras,  but  it  was  never  co¬ 
extensive  with  the  Iroquois  race,  which  included  also  the 
Hurons,  now  the  Wyandottes,  who  lived  between  lakes 
Huron  and  Ontario,  the  Eries,  the  Neutral  Nation  west 
of  the  Niagara  river,  the  Susquehannocks  and  the  Cones¬ 
togas  on  the  lower  Susquehanna,  and  perhaps  the  Chero- 
kees  on  the  upper  Tennessee.  The  seat  of  the  Tuscaroras 
was  in  Virginia  until  they  came  north  to  join  the  con¬ 
federation.  The  confederacy  treated  the  Eries,  the  Sus¬ 
quehannocks,  and  the  Neutral  Nation  as  enemies,  and 
waged  a  war  of  extermination  against  them.  In  organi¬ 
zation  the  confederation  was  a  consciously  formed  league 

1  “The  Documentary  History  of  New  York,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  15-16.  I 
have  given  these  details  about  the  village  composition  of  Indian  tribes  be¬ 
cause  so  high  an  authority  as  Major  J.  W.  Powell  in  his  article  on  the 
North  American  Indians,  in  “Johnson’s  Universal  Cyclopaedia,”  new 
edition,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  545,  makes  the  astonishing  statement  that  “  every 
tribe  lived  in  a  village  and  every  village  constituted  a  distinct  tribe.” 

2  Andersson,  “Lake  Ngami,”  p.  221. 

3  Bastian,  “  Afrikanische  Reisen,”  p.  70. 

4  Allen  and  Thompson,  “Narrative  of  Expedition  to  River  Niger  in 
1841,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  325. 

5  Hooker,  “Himalayan  Journals,”  Vol.  II.,  pp.  274-276. 

6  Ellis,  “Polynesian  Researches,”  Vol.  II.,  p.  346. 

7  Erskine,  “Journal  of  a  Cruise  among  the  Islands  of  the  Western 
Pacific,”  p.  158. 

8  Ellis,  “History  of  Madagascar,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  164. 


164 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


for  united  aggression  and  defence.  A  grand  council  of 
fifty  sachems,  equal  in  rank  and  authority,  was  invested 
with  supreme  power  over  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  con¬ 
federacy.  The  tribes  remained  independent  in  all  strictly 
tribal  matters.  The  council  of  any  tribe  could  convene 
the  council  of  the  confederacy,  but  the  council  of  the 
confederacy  had  no  power  to  convene  itself.  Back  of 
this  consciously  devised  constitution,  however,  were  facts 
of  common  lineage  and  language,  and,  above  all,  of  intri¬ 
cate  kinship  ties  which  made  confederation  nothing  more 
than  a  formal  integration  of  tribes  that  were  essentially 
one  people.  The  same  totemic  kindreds  extended  through 
all  the  tribes  of  the  confederacy,  and  thus  bound  them 
together.  This  relationship  was  a  consequence  of  the 
origin  of  the  tribes  from  one  tribe.  When  a  tribe  split 
into  two,  as  for  example  when  the  Mohawks  separated 
from  the  Oneidas,  members  from  each  clan  in  the  parent 
tribe  went  into  the  new  tribe.1 

The  tribes  of  the  Tonga  islands  were  united  in  a  metro¬ 
nymic  monarchy  with  a  double  organization,  religious  and 
political.  The  Tooi-Tonga,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  de¬ 
scendant  in  the  female  line  of  the  chief  goddess  of  the  Ton- 
gans,  was  the  religious  chief  of  the  whole  group  of  islands. 
The  highest  dignitary  in  the  secular  order  was  the  king 
or  head  chief.  Originally  the  king  was  a  descendant  in 
the  female  line  from  the  family  in  which  the  office  of  Tooi- 
Tonga  was  hereditary,  but  a  usurping  dynasty  afterwards 
came  into  power  through  military  success.  All  relatives 
of  the  Tooi-Tonga  family,  however,  were  higher  in  blood 
than  the  king,  and  he  showed  reverence  to  the  humblest 
among  them.  Everywhere  descent  and  rank  passed  in 
the  female  line.  If  a  man  married  a  woman  of  superior 
rank,  the  children  inherited  the  mother’s  rank  and  he 
showed  deference  to  her  and  to  them.  If  the  wife  was  of 

1  For  the  best  account  of  Iroquois  social  organization,  see  Morgan, 
u  Ancient  Society.” 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


165 


inferior  rank,  mother  and  children  were  obliged  to  show 
deference  to  the  father.1 

The  Malagasy  are  a  kingdom  created  by  the  consoli¬ 
dation  of  many  tribes  under  the  hegemony  of  the  Hovas. 
The  total  population  is  4,500,000.  The  tribes  are  sub¬ 
divided  into  numerous  villages,  and  the  relations  of  tribes 
and  clans  are  complicated,  on  account  of  the  large  popula¬ 
tion  and  the  extreme  subdivision  of  the  original  tribes, 
and  the  dispersion  of  clans  in  local  settlements.  Until 
very  recently  the  eldest  son  of  the  king’s  nearest  female 
relative  was  the  legitimate  heir  to  the  throne.2 

There  is  no  doubt  that  many  of  the  patronymic  tribal 
nations  were  originally  metronymic.  “  In  the  thirty-third 
year  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus  metronymy  was  still  the  law 
of  Egypt ;  parties  to  a  suit  appeared  in  public  documents 
as  the  sons  of  their  mother,  the  father’s  name  not  being 
mentioned.  The  newly  married  man  even  dropped  his 
own  name  to  take  that  of  his  wife  (Revillon,  “  Papyrus 
demotique  ”),  gave  up  to  her  all  he  possessed  to  provide 
for  her  future  family,  and  reserving  nothing  for  his  own 
private  use  only  asked  to  be  supported  until  the  end  of 
his  days,  and  then  suitably  interred.”3  Kinships  were 
originally  reckoned  through  mothers  among  the  Germans  4 5 
and  probably  among  the  Greeks.6 

A  very  good  example  of  the  most  archaic  type  of  patro¬ 
nymic  tribes  is  afforded  by  the  Santals  of  the  western 
mountains  of  Lower  Bengal.6  They  number  one  and  a 

1  Wood,  “  The  Uncivilized  Races  of  Men,”  pp.  981-983  and  cf.  Letour- 
neau,  “La  Sociologie,”  p.  388. 

2  Waitz,  “  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker,”  Bd.  II.,  p.  432;  Ellis, 

“History  of  Madagascar,”  Yol.  I.,  p.  164;  and  Drury,  “Madagascar,” 
p.  247.  8  Reclus,  “Primitive  Eolk,”  p.  157. 

4  “  Lex  Salica,”  Cod.  1,  Title  XLIIII.,  “  De  Reipus,”  §§  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8  ; 
and  Title  LVIIIL,  “De  Alodis,”  §§  1,  2,  3,  4. 

5  Cf.  McLennan,  “  Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  “  Kinship  in  Ancient 

Greece.”  6  Hunter,  “  Annals  of  Rural  Bengal,”  Yol.  I.,  p.  185. 


166 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


half  to  two  million  persons,  and  occupy  a  strip  four  hun¬ 
dred  miles  long  by  one  hundred  broad.  This  population 
is  divided  into  seven,  some  say  twelve,  tribes,  and  these 
are  subdivided  into  kindred  groups.  Relationship  is  al¬ 
ways  reckoned  through  fathers.  Consistently  with  this 
system,  and  in  contrast  to  the  plan  and  the  description  of 
metronymic  tribes,  the  tribes  are  believed  to  be  descended 
not  from  some  mother  animal  or  plant,  but  from  seven 
sons  of  the  first  parent  of  the  race.  In  like  manner  each 
of  the  kindred  groups  into  which  a  tribe  is  subdivided  is 
supposed  to  consist  of  the  descendants,  through  males,  of 
a  male  ancestor  from  whom  the  group  has  taken  its  name. 
These  kindred  groups  are  exogamous.  No  one  is  per¬ 
mitted  to  take  a  wife  from  his  own  kindred  on  the  father’s 
side.  The  group,  therefore,  theoretically  should  include 
all  the  sons  and  all  the  daughters  of  any  former  male 
member  of  the  group,  but  never  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  female  members.  These  would  belong  to  the  kindreds 
of  their  fathers.  But,  in  fact,  the  kindred  is  never  quite 
so  strictly  constituted.  Like  the  totemic  kin  in  the  metro¬ 
nymic  tribe,  it  contains  members  by  adoption,  whose  kin¬ 
ship  is  therefore  fictitious  ;  and  members,  whether  by  birth 
or  by  adoption,  may  be  banished  as  outcasts  in  punishment 
of  serious  offences.  When  a  girl  marries,  she  must  give 
up  her  kindred  and  its  gods  for  those  of  her  husband.1 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  all  respects,  save  two,  the  organi¬ 
zations  of  kindred  within  the  Santal  tribes  are  like  those 
within  the  American  Indian,  the  Damara,  the  Tongan 
and  other  metronymic  tribes.  The  bond  of  union  is  not 
totemic,  but  is  paternal  kinship,  and  women  on  marriage 
lose  the  kinship  of  their  birth  altogether  and  become  by 
fiction  of  the  kindred  of  their  husbands. 

It  is  better  to  use  the  generic  name  clan  for  all  forms 
of  kinship  organization  larger  than  the  family  and  differ¬ 
ing  from  the  family  by  including  only  the  relatives,  real 

t 

1  Hunter,  “  Annals  of  Rural  Bengal,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  146-217. 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


167 


or  nominal,  in  one  line  of  descent.  If  the  clan  is  metro¬ 
nymic,  it  should  be  called  a  totem-kin  if  it  is  desired  to 
emphasize  its  totemistic  character,  or  an  enatic  clan  if  it 
is  desired  to  emphasize  the  maternal  relationship.  If  it 
is  patronymic,  it  should  be  called  the  patronymic,  the  agna¬ 
tic,  or  the  patriarchal  clan.  The  7 eVo?  of  the  Greek  tribes 
and  the  gens  of  the  Romans  were  substantially  identical 
in  organization  with  the  patronymic  clan  of  the  Santals, 
just  described,  and  ethnologists  have  used  the  word  gens 
to  designate  a  clan  organization  of  any  kind.  It  is  better, 
however,  to  employ  it  for  the  specific  purpose  of  designat¬ 
ing  the  Roman  clan  only. 

The  governmental  organization  of  a  tribal  community, 
which  admits  of  much  more  perfect  development  in  the 
patronymic  than  in  the  metronymic  tribe,  is  remarkably 
well  exemplified  in  the  tribes  of  the  Ostyaks  who  inhabit 
the  dreary  northern  country  on  the  banks  of  the  Obi  and 
its  tributaries.1  The  tribes  have  each  a  head  chief,  who 
is  the  judge  of  the  most  serious  offences.  Each  tribe  is 
constituted  of  clans,  and  each  clan  is  a  community,  num¬ 
bering  several  hundred  houses,  and  presided  over  by  an 
elder,  who  judges  small  offences.  The  clan  communities 
are  so  far  independent  of  each  other  that  travellers  often 
speak  of  them  as  tribes,  but  they  are  exogamous  and  are 
bound  together  for  defence  and  other  purposes  in  the 
larger  organization  of  the  true  tribe,  which  is  endogamous. 

In  South  Africa  the  Kaffirs,  the  Bechuanas,  and  the 
Hottentots,  unlike  their  neighbours,  the  Damaras,  have 
patronymic  tribal  organizations.2  The  Kaffirs  are  associ¬ 
ated  in  many  large  tribes.  Each  tribe  is  composed  of 
many  villages  and  is  constituted  of  exogamous  clans. 
Each  tribe  has  its  subordinate  chief.  The  wandering 
tribes  of  Hottentots  are  subdivided  into  villages,  com- 

1  Latham,  “Descriptive  Ethnology,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  454. 

2  Waitz,  “  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker,”  Bd.  II.,  p.  341;  and  Kolbe, 
“  Description  du  cap  de  Bonne  Esp^rance,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  264,  265 


168 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


munities,  or  kraals,  of  from  two  hundred  to  four  hundred 
people  each.  These  kraals  are  endogamous.  Litakum, 
the  chief  settlement  of  the  Bechuanas,  shows  how  the 
villages  of  a  tribe  may  draw  together  and  grow  into  a 
town.  Burchell,  writing  in  1812  of  Litakum,1  said  that 
it  had  an  area  of  more  than  one  and  a  half  by  two  miles, 
but  was  built  without  the  least  regularity  of  arrangement. 
“  Such  a  town  may  be  considered  as  a  collection  of  little 
villages,  each  under  the  superintendence  of  its  own  chief¬ 
tain.”  “A  considerable  space  of  unoccupied  ground  gen¬ 
erally  separates  the  division  of  one  chieftain  from  that  of 
another  ;  though  sometimes  they  adjoin.  The  number  of 
such  divisions,  or  clusters  of  houses,  appeared  ...  to  be 
between  thirty  and  forty.  The  whole  number  of  dwell¬ 
ings  was  nearly  eight  hundred  and  the  population  was 
estimated  at  five  thousand.” 

The  composition  of  demotic  societies  requires  but  little 
description.  As  in  ethnical  societies,  the  unitary  group 
is  the  family.  Families  are  combined  in  neighbourhoods, 
hamlets,  or  villages.  In  New  England,  villages  and  out¬ 
lying  homesteads  compose  the  town  ;  in  the  middle  and 
western  states,  the  township.  In  England,  they  compose 
the  parish ;  in  France,  the  commune.  Elsewhere  in 
Europe  they  compose  local  divisions  of  various  names, 
but  like  the  commune  or  the  parish  in  organization.  All 
large  cities  are  composite.  Greater  London  includes  the 
ancient  City  and  thirty-nine  once  independent  parishes. 
New  York  has  absorbed  Chelsea,  Greenwich,  Blooming- 
dale,  Harlem,  and  many  smaller  villages.  Greater  New 
York  will  include  Brooklyn  and  nineteen  or  twenty  large 
towns.  American  townships  and  English  parishes  are 
combined  in  counties.  American  counties  compose  the 
commonwealth  ;  English  counties,  the  kingdom,  which 
was  once  seven  kingdoms.  French  cantons  formerly 

1  “  Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Southern  Africa,”  Vol.  II.,  p.  512. 


THE  SOCIAL  COMPOSITION 


169 


composed  the  kingdom  ;  they  now  compose  the  depart¬ 
ments,  which  compose  the  republic.  American  common¬ 
wealths  compose  the  federal  nation  of  the  United  States. 
The  ancient  kingdoms  of  England  and  Wales,  Scotland 
and  Ireland,  compose  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland.  The  United  Kingdom,  the  federal 
dominion  of  Canada,  the  states  of  India  and  Australia, 
and  various  minor  states  compose  the  British  Empire. 
The  German  Empire  is  composed  of  twenty-five  formerly 
independent  kingdoms,  principalities,  and  free  cities. 
Switzerland  and  Mexico  are  federal  republics  ;  Italy  is  a 
composite  kingdom  ;  Austria  and  Russia  are  highly  com¬ 
posite  empires.  Modern  demotic  societies  are  thus  doubly 
and  trebly,  and  in  many  cases  more  than  trebly,  compound.1 

A  further  partial  integration  is  seen  in  such  arrange¬ 
ments  as  the  Triple  Alliance  and  in  the  diplomatic  rela¬ 
tions  of  the  treaty-making  nations  that  bind  themselves 
by  obligations  of  international  law. 

The  provincial  divisions  of  demotic  societies  are  not 
merely  administrative.  They  usually  correspond  to  orig¬ 
inal  differences  of  manners  and  customs  and  of  thought 
and  conversation,  among  independent  communities.  Many 
such  differences  persist,  and  it  is  plain  to  the  trained 
observer  that  they  antedate  the  characteristics  that  the 
provincial  divisions  have  in  common. 

All  degrees  of  social  composition  beyond  the  family  and 
the  horde  imply  the  self-consciousness  of  the  social  mind. 
The  federation  of  tribes  or  of  states  is  effected  by  the 
deliberate  action  of  the  social  mind  under  the  pressure 
of  external  necessities,  especially  those  of  defence  and 
aggression.  When  integration  has  been  accomplished,  a 
certain  internal  necessity  obliges  the  social  mind  to 
maintain  the  union  after  its  original  purpose  has  been 
achieved.  The  consciousness  of  kind  is  the  compelling 

1  Cf.  Spencer,  “  The  Principles  of  Sociology,”  Yol.  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  X. 


170 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


power.  The  social  mind  puts  its  own  impress  on  each 
component  group,  and  moulds  it  into  conformity  with  a 
certain  type.  Thus  in  a  given  community  every  variety 
of  the  family  may  have  existed  at  the  outset,  or  may  from 
time  to  time  appear  ;  but  the  social  mind  gives  approval 
and  sanction  to  some  one  type,  for  example,  the  monog- 
amic  or  the  polygynous,  and  prohibits  or  discountenances 
all  others.  In  like  manner,  in  the  commonwealth  each 
component  town,  and  in  the  federal  state  each  compo¬ 
nent  commonwealth,  is  compelled  to  conform  to  a  type 
or  standard. 

Thus  the  social  composition  is  a  psychological  rather 
than  a  physical  fact.  Viewed  as  a  psychological  phe¬ 
nomenon,  it  may  be  described  as  a  mutual  toleration  and 
alliance  among  the  unlike  individual  elements  of  a  society, 
supplemented  by  an  alliance  of  the  like,  and  non-toleration 
of  the  unlike,  among  its  component  groups. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION" 

The  constitution  of  a  society  is  the  organization  of  its 
individual  members  into  specialized  associations  for  achiev¬ 
ing  various  social  ends.  For  example,  a  town  has  a  munic¬ 
ipal  government,  churches,  schools,  industrial  corporations, 
labour  organizations,  literary  and  scientific  societies,  and 
social  clubs.  These  associations,  harmoniously  correlated, 
are  the  social  constitution  of  the  community.  Collectively, 
they  carry  on  the  diversified  social  activities.  Thus  the 
constituent  associations  of  society  are  purposive.  Each 
association  has  a  defined  object  in  view,  which  its  mem¬ 
bers  are  supposed  to  be  aware  of,  and  for  the  attainment 
of  which  they  are  expected  to  put  forth  effort. 

A  purposive  association  may  include  both  sexes  in  its 
membership,  but  only  for  other  objects  than  marriage  and 
reproduction.  Consequently,  membership  in  the  social 
constitution  is  not,  as  in  the  social  composition,  an  inci¬ 
dent  of  birth.  New  members  are  admitted  into  a  pur¬ 
posive  association  only  by  their  own  consent  and  by  the 
permission  of  members.  Where  members  seem  to  enter 
it  by  birth,  as  in  a  church  which  claims  the  children  of 
members,  it  is  not  kinship,  it  is  a  claim,  consciously  made 
and  allowed,  that  is  the  true  ground  of  the  membership 
relation.  Therefore  purposive  associations  have  no  inde¬ 
pendent  existence.  They  depend  on  one  another  and  they 
presuppose  the  social  composition.  They  are  found  only 
within  a  comprehensive  autogenous  society. 

The  individuals  that  compose  a  purposive  association 
are  more  alike  with  reference  to  the  purpose  that  unites 
them  than  are  any  two  associations.  If  the  members  of 

171 


172 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


a  given  trade-union  were  not  more  alike  in  ideas  and  in¬ 
terests  than  are  any  two  equally  accessible  and  efficient 
unions,  the  differing  members  would  join  other  organiza¬ 
tions.  No  two  churches  resemble  each  other  so  closely  in 
feeling  and  belief  as  do  the  actually  cooperating  members 
of  any  given  church.  The  members  of  trade-unions  col¬ 
lectively,  or  of  churches  collectively,  resemble  each  other 
more  than  trade-unions  in  general  resemble  churches  in 
general.  The  members  of  business  corporations  collec¬ 
tively,  or  of  scientific  societies  collectively,  resemble  each 
other  more  closely  than  the  scientific  societies  resemble 
the  business  corporations. 

As  each  association  in  the  social  constitution  does  a 
specific  work,  it  may  be  said  to  have  a  social  function  ; 
from  this  point  of  view  purposive  association  may  be 
described  as  functional  association.  The  combination  of 
purposive  associations  is  therefore  a  coordination,  and 
their  mutual  aid  is  not  limited  by  a  mere  increase  of  mass 
and  power ;  it  is  effected  also  through  a  division  of  labour. 

The  cooperation  of  animals  in  fishing,  hunting,  and  de¬ 
fence  is  a  functional  association,  but  it  is  not  sufficiently 
differentiated  or  regular  to  be  regarded  as  a  social  con¬ 
stitution.  Perhaps  the  permanent  and  systematic  social 
organization  of  some  species  of  ants  is  an  exception. 

Likewise  there  is  no  true  social  constitution  in  the  low¬ 
est  bands  of  savage  men,  although  there  is  much  coopera¬ 
tion  in  such  communities  and  the  family  is  becoming  in 
some  degree  an  artificial  brotherhood  through  the  inclu¬ 
sion  of  adopted  members. 

In  tribal  societies  purposive  association  is  so  far  de¬ 
veloped  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  an  elementary  social 
constitution.  The  tribal  constitution,  however,  is  not 
separated  from  the  social  composition.  Certain  groups 
in  the  social  composition  and  certain  derivative  organi¬ 
zations  serve  also  as  purposive  associations.  Thus  the 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


173 


domestic  group  is  both  a  family  and  a  household.  As  a 
family  it  is  a  unit  in  the  social  composition.  As  a  house¬ 
hold  it  is  an  economic  purposive  association,  engaged  in 
obtaining  and  preparing  food,  and  in  manufacturing  cloth¬ 
ing,  tools,  and  utensils.  The  clan,  which  is  derived  from 
the  family  by  a  process  which  will  be  described  in  the 
chapter  on  Ethnogenic  Association,  is  a  purposive  associ¬ 
ation  that  enforces  rights  and  obligations  and  cherishes 
the  juridical  tradition.  The  organization  and  functions 
of  an  Iroquois  clan  as  described  by  Morgan 1  were  repre¬ 
sentative.  Each  Iroquois  clan  had  an  elected  sachem, 
whose  duties  were  essentially  those  of  a  petty  justice. 
He  interpreted  and  administered  the  juridical  tradition 
of  the  clan.  The  clan  had  also  a  council  which  discussed 
and  determined  all  matters  of  policy.  All  clansmen  and 
clanswomen  had  the  right  to  vote  in  electing  or  deposing 
the  officers  of  the  clan.  All  were  forbidden  to  marry 
within  the  clan.  All  were  bound  by  the  obligation  to  help 
and  defend  a  fellow-clansman  and  to  avenge  his  injuries. 
All  shared  in  the  right  to  bear  the  clan’s  totemic  name, 
to  inherit  the  property  of  deceased  members,  and  to  adopt 
strangers  into  the  clan.  All  participated  in  the  common 
religious  observances  and  all  had  rights  in  the  common 
burial-place.  The  tribe  always  is  essentially  a  military 
organization  ruled  by  a  council  of  chieftains  who  have 
been  the  successful  leaders  of  war-parties,  or  perhaps  by  a 
single  chief.  In  addition  to  all  these  organizations  there 
are  usually  in  tribal  communities  many  secret  associations 
which  have  religious  functions.2 

1  “Ancient  Society,”  Part  II.,  Chap.  II. 

2  The  secret  societies  of  the  Zuni  have  been  studied  by  Mr.  Frank 
Cushing,  Mrs.  M.  C.  Stevenson,  and  Mr.  Walter  Fewkes ;  those  of  the 
Navajoes,  by  Dr.  Washington  Matthews ;  those  of  the  Moquis,  by  Cap¬ 
tain  R.  G.  Bourke  ;  those  of  the  Dakotahs,  by  Miss  Alice  Fletcher  and 
Rev.  J.  O.  Dorsey ;  and  those  of  the  Alaskans,  by  Dr.  Franz  Boas.  See 
Peet,  “Secret  Societies  and  Sacred  Mysteries,”  “Memoirs  of  the  Inter¬ 
national  Congress  of  Anthropology.” 


174 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


In  civil  societies  the  social  constitution  is  completely 
developed  and  in  the  main  is  separated  from  the  social 
composition,  although  the  separation  is  never  complete 
at  all  points.  Always,  however,  in  civil  society  the  social 
composition  is  subordinated  to  the  social  constitution, 
while  in  tribal  society  the  social  constitution  is  but  inci¬ 
dental  to  the  composition. 

The  chief  purposive  organization  of  civil  society  is  the 
state,  the  organization  through  which  the  social  mind 
dominates  the  whole  autogenous  society,  prescribes  forms 
and  obligations  to  all  minor  purposive  associations,  and 
shapes  the  social  composition.  Coordinating  all  activities 
and  relations,  the  state  maintains  those  conditions  under 
which  all  its  subjects  may  live  “  a  perfect  and  self-suffic¬ 
ing  life.”1 

Subordinate  to  the  state,  which  touches  every  interest 
and  action  of  its  members,  are  private  purposive  associa¬ 
tions  of  narrower  range  and  with  more  specialized  func¬ 
tions.  “  Imagine  a  great  circle  within  which  are  lesser 
circles  combining  in  a  thousand  ways  to  form  the  most 
varied  figures  without  overstepping  the  limits  that  enclose 
them;  this  is  an  image  of  the  great  association  of  the 
state  and  of  the  particular  associations  that  it  embraces.”2 

The  private  associations  are  of  four  classes.  Those 
of  one  class  are  directly  concerned  with  political  interests. 
Independent  of  the  government,  they  make  governments 
and  unmake  them.  In  a  second  class  are  private  organi¬ 
zations  that  assume  juristic  functions,  usually  but  not 
always  in  violation  of  law ;  the  Vigilance  Committees, 
the  Ku  Ivlux  Klans,  and  the  White  Caps.  In  the  third 
class  are  the  various  organizations  of  industrial  society, 
which  provide  for  the  physical  needs  of  life  and  adjust 
the  changing  relations  of  want  and  satisfaction.  In  the 
fourth  class  are  all  organizations  that  occupy  themselves 

1  Aristotle,  “The  Politics,”  III.  9. 

2  Fouillee,  “  La  science  sociale  contemporaine,”  p.  13. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


175 


with  matters  of  feeling,  thought,  and  conduct ;  the  cult¬ 
ural  associations,  whose  object  is  to  foster  spiritual  de¬ 
velopment  and  to  promote  happiness.  They  include  the 
church  and  its  allied  organizations,  philanthropic  societies, 
scientific  and  educational  associations,  and  innumerable 
organizations  for  social  pleasure. 

Every  purposive  association  has  not  only  a  function, 
but  also  a  composition  and  a  constitution,  which  are 
adapted  to  the  performance  of  the  function. 

In  the  composition  of  associations  individuals  are  com¬ 
bined  as  persons  and  by  categories,  —  for  example,  the 
categories  of  employer  and  employees  in  the  composition 
of  an  industrial  group.  The  composition  of  associations 
must  be  studied  with  reference  to  the  common  trait  or 
interest  that  unites  their  members. 

The  constitution  of  a  purposive  association  is  the 
organization  of  its  membership.  The  categories  of  in¬ 
dividuals  that  compose  it  are  combined  in  accordance 
with  some  principle  of  subordination  or  coordination,  and 
the  entire  membership  may  be  divided  into  sub-societies, 
bureaus,  or  committees. 

The  organization  of  a  voluntary  purposive  association 
has  further  to  be  described  as  secret  or  open.  Secrecy 
and  a  rigorous  exercise  of  authority  over  members  are 
conspicuous  features  of  purposive  association  in  savage 
tribes,  and  hardly  less  so  in  the  great  oriental  empires 
of  China,  Farther  India,  and  Persia.  In  mediaeval  days 
they  marked  the  social  organization  of  western  Europe, 
but  they  are  now  exceptional  there  and  are  rare  in  the 
United  States  if  the  whole  number  of  organizations  is 
taken  into  account.  Perhaps  no  more  interesting  con¬ 
trast  than  this  exists  in  the  social  systems  of  America 
and  China.  America  is  sociologically  a  vast  plexus  of 
free  associations,  most  of  which  are  perfectly  open  in 
their  objects  and  methods.  China  is  a  social  network 
of  oath-bound  secret  societies,  whose  members  are  under 


176 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


threat  of  mutilation  or  death  if  they  reveal  the  myste¬ 
ries  of  their  fraternities.1  There  is  probably  some  close 
connection  between  such  a  contrast  and  the  relative 
predominance  of  economic  association  in  the  West,  and 
of  religious,  fraternal,  and  defensive  association  in  the 
East. 

The  detailed  study  of  the  state  belongs  to  political 
science.  General  sociology  is  concerned  only  with  the 
main  features  of  political  organization  and  with  some  of 
the  relations  between  the  state  and  minor  associations. 

Much  confusion  in  political  theory  might  have  been 
avoided  by  a  careful  study  of  the  composition  of  the  state. 
Does  the  state  include  all  the  members  of  a  natural 
society  ?  In  answer  Professor  Burgess  says  that  “  the  state 
is  all  comprehensive.  Its  organization  embraces  all  per¬ 
sons,  natural  or  legal,  and  all  associations  of  persons. 
Political  science  and  public  law  do  not  recognize  in  prin¬ 
ciple  the  existence  of  any  stateless  persons  within  the 
territory  of  the  state.”2  It  is  as  subjects,  however,  that 
all  individuals  are  included  in  the  state.  Between  sub¬ 
jects  of  the  state  and  members  of  the  state,  there  may  be 
a  momentous  difference.  All  are  subjects  of  the  state 
over  whom  the  state  asserts  authority.  They  only  are 
members  of  the  state  who  share  in  its  consciousness,  and 
who  by  their  loyalty  and  their  willing  aid  contribute  to 
its  authority  and  its  power.  The  rebel,  the  traitor,  the 
recalcitrant,  are  in  the  state,  but  they  are  not  of  it. 

Therefore  in  the  composition  of  the  state  individuals 
are  combined  by  categories.  These  categories  are,  —  the 
subjects  of  authority,  the  makers  of  general  authority, 
the  makers  of  legal  authority,  and  the  agents  of  legal 

1  “Secret  Societies  in  China,”  Saturday  Review,  Vol.  LXXII.,  Sep¬ 
tember  19,  1891,  p.  331. 

2  “  Political  Science  and  Comparative  Constitutional  Law,”  Vol.  I., 

p.  62. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


177 


authority.  All  who  share  in  the  consciousness  of  the 
state,  and  freely  contribute  their  thought  and  effort  to 
it,  are  makers  of  authority  in  a  general  sense.  It  is  this 
general  authority  which  is  ultimately  embodied  in  law 
and  in  the  political  organization.  But  not  all  who  help 
to  create  the  general  authority  actually  help  to  convert 
it  into  legal  forms.  The  makers  of  legal  authority  are 
those  who  legally  exercise  the  franchise  and  by  their  votes 
authorize  the  legal  acts  of  the  state.  The  electors  of  a 
state  are  thus  a  very  definite  purposive  association  within 
an  association  that  is  larger  and  less  definite ;  and,  as  in 
all  other  purposive  associations  that  are  definite  in  form, 
new  members  are  admitted  to  the  electorate  only  by  the 
consent  of  members. 

The  agents  of  legal  authority  are  those  whom  the  elec¬ 
tors  authorize  to  put  their  will  into  final  form  and  execu¬ 
tion.  Collectively,  the  agents  of  legal  authority  are  the 
government. 

In  the  constitution  of  the  state  the  most  important 
subordinate  bodies  are  the  public  corporations.  The 
state  first  incorporates  itself,  defining  its  territory  and 
its  membership,  describing  its  organization,  and  laying 
upon  itself  the  rules  of  procedure  by  which  it  will  sys¬ 
tematically  conduct  its  affairs.  It  next  in  like  manner 
incorporates  the  local  subdivisions  of  society,  such  as 
counties,  townships,  and  cities,  and  assigns  to  each  certain 
rights,  duties,  and  powers.  The  remaining  subordinate 
organizations  of  the  state  are  found  within  the  public 
corporations.  They  consist  of  parliamentary  and  legisla¬ 
tive  bodies  to  initiate  the  formulation  of  law :  of  courts 
to  complete  the  formulation  of  law;  and  of  executive 
bureaus,  boards,  and  commissions. 

The  functions  of  the  state  are  usually  discussed  with 
reference  to  some  theory  of  what  they  ought,  or  ought 
not,  to  be.  The  sociologist  is  concerned  with  them  as 
they  are.  Actually,  the  functions  of  the  state  are  co- 


178 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


extensive  with  human  interests.  There  is  no  state  in 
Christendom  which  does  not  add  to  its  functions  of 
defence  and  arbitration  various  economic  and  cultural 
activities. 

The  primary  purpose  of  the  state  is  to  perfect  social 
integration.  To  this  end  it  maintains  armies  and  carries 
on  diplomacy  to  protect  the  nation  against  aggression 
or  to  enlarge  its  territory  and  population ;  and  it  main¬ 
tains  tribunals  and  police  to  enforce  peace  within  its  own 
borders.  The  first  business  of  legislatures,  courts,  and 
executives  is  to  combine,  defend,  and  harmonize  social 
groups,  classes,  individuals,  and  interests. 

Inevitably,  however,  the  performance  of  this  work  car¬ 
ries  the  state  into  economic  activities.  All  modern  states 
coin  money  and  interfere  with  the  value  thereof ;  the 
power  to  “  regulate  ”  the  value  of  money  exists  only  in 
written  constitutions.  Credit  and  banking-operations  are 
to  a  very  great  extent  controlled  by  governments.  States 
interfere  with  value  also  by  legislation  and  taxation, 
sometimes  on  a  vast  scale,  as  in  the  complicated  protec¬ 
tive  tariff  systems  of  the  United  States,  Germany,  and 
France.  All  states  put  the  chief  means  of  communication, 
namely,  the  postal  system,  under  the  management  of  the 
government.  In  European  states  the  telegraph  also  is 
a  governmental  institution.  As  yet  the  railroad  system 
of  the  world  is  operated  chiefly  by  private,  or,  as  some 
perhaps  would  prefer  to  say,  quasi-public  corporations. 
In  all  states,  however,  the  business  of  railroads  is  being 
more  and  more  closely  regulated  by  the  government. 
Most  states  have  made  experiments  in  the  governmental 
management  of  railroads.  In  the  United  States  all  such 
experiments  have  been  disastrous  failures,  and  they  have 
been  nowhere  really  successful,  except  possibly  in  Ger¬ 
many  and  Austria.  The  operation  of  street,  railroads  by 
municipal  corporations  is  perhaps  more  promising.  All 
states  are  to  some  extent  producers  of  goods.  The  official 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


179 


products  of  the  United  States  at  present  consist  of  fire¬ 
arms  and  silver  dollars.  The  staple  official  products  of 
Europe  are  munitions  of  war  and  French  tobacco. 

Not  less  inevitable  is  it  that  states  should  assume  cult¬ 
ural  functions.  The  members  of  the  state  see  that  social 
cohesion  is  a  spiritual  union  rather  than  an  external  com¬ 
pulsion,  and  that  it  depends  upon  the  ideas  of  individuals. 
They  believe  it  to  be  as  necessary  to  guide  the  minds  of 
men  as  it  is  to  suppress  crime  and  insurrection.  Rightly 
or  wrongly,  they  believe  also  that  the  guidance  will  be 
inadequate  or  pernicious  unless  the  state  itself  is  the 
supreme  guide.  Every  state,  therefore,  maintains  either 
institutions  of  religion,  like  the  Greek  Church  of  Russia, 
or  an  elaborate  system  of  secular  education,  like  that  of 
the  United  States  or  of  France.  Occasionally  a  state,  like 
England  or  Prussia,  succeeds  in  maintaining  side  by  side 
a  state  religion  and  a  state  instruction,  but  it  is  generally 
recognized  that  such  a  policy  creates  a  condition  of  un¬ 
stable  equilibrium.  Every  state  in  these  days  recognizes 
obligations  to  literature,  science,  and  art,  and  undertakes 
to  discharge  them  by  supporting  universities  and  such 
institutions  as  the  French  Academy  and  the  numerous 
scientific  bureaus  of  the  United  States,  and  by  maintain¬ 
ing  libraries,  museums,  and  galleries  of  art.  European 
states  care  also  for  the  beauty  of  their  cities  and  some¬ 
times  for  those  remnants  of  natural  beauty  that  have  sur¬ 
vived  a  century  of  ruthless  industrialism.  Whether  the 
politician-ridden  people  of  the  United  States  will  ever  get 
beauty  at  the  hands  of  their  officials,  is  a  question  that 
cannot  yet  be  answered.  There  reason  to  fear  that  the 
originality  of  our  street  architecture,  with  its  patriotic 
scorn  of  such  foreign  qualities  as  harmony  of  colouring, 
suitability,  and  proportion,  cannot  be  wholly  credited  to 
the  Boss.  The  people  themselves  are  wasting  the  natural 
beauty  of  a  marvellous  continent  with  an  insatiate  relish 
for  destruction  that  has  hardly  been  witnessed  before  in 


180 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


human  history.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  the  mind 
to  which  an  ancient  pine  is  wood  pulp  and  the  Palisades 
are  Belgian  blocks  is  “the  true  American  type.” 

The  assumption  that  the  state  has  only  functions  of 
defence  and  arbitration  is  not  more  erroneous  than  the 
common  assumption  that  voluntary  organization  has  only 
economic  and  cultural  functions.  The  most  important  of 
all  voluntary  organizations  are  political  associations. 

In  the  composition  of  political  associations  men  of  like 
views  and  like  interests  are  allied.  On  the  whole,  how¬ 
ever,  it  is  the  consciousness  of  kind  rather  than  any  purely 
intellectual  agreement  that  is  the  bond  of  union.  A  mon¬ 
archist  knows  that  another  monarchist  is  in  instinct  like 
himself,  and  that  a  republican  is  not.  Most  men  adhere 
to  the  political  party  in  which  they  have  been  reared, 
not  from  conviction  but  from  liking.  No  one  fact  in 
American  history  is  so  significant  as  the  persistency  with 
which  Federalists,  Whigs,  and  Republicans  have  con¬ 
templated  themselves  as  a  different  kind  of  human  beings 
from  Democrats.  The  fatal  weakness  of  the  Democratic 
party  has  always  been  the  instinctive  segregation  of  the 
boss-adoring  rank  and  file  from  an  idealistic  and  theo¬ 
rizing  minority  that  has  cared  for  principles.  Even  some 
mugwumps,  if  the  truth  be  told,  have  been  mugwumps  less 
because  of  their  independence,  than  because  they  have 
liked  to  keep  the  company  of  gentlemen.  Belief  and 
interest  are  nevertheless  important  factors  of  political 
association.  No  political  party  is  as  homogeneous  as  it 
would  be  if  the  consciousness  of  kind  were  its  sole  ani¬ 
mating  power.  In  every  political  association  there  are 
men  of  unlike  natures  who  are  united  by  identity  of  be¬ 
lief  or  by  community  of  interest.  The  heterogeneity  of 
political  association  is  further  increased  by  the  necessary 
combination  of  leadership  and  following. 

The  constitution  of  voluntary  political  associations 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


181 


assumes  the  forms  of  secret  societies,  non-secret  hut  ex¬ 
clusive  clubs,  and  open  associations.  Secret  societies  and 
cabals  are  characteristic  of  states  in  which  liberty  is  im¬ 
perfectly  developed  and  in  which  therefore  all  criticism 
of  the  government  and  all  private  political  initiative 
are  dangerous.  Political  agitation  in  Russia  and  the 
Danubian  states  to-day  is  carried  on  largely  through  secret 
societies,  as  it  was  in  France  during  the  Revolution  and 
in  England  in  the  seventeenth  century.  In  lands  where 
freedom  of  discussion  is  upheld  by  law,  secret  association 
in  politics  is  resorted  to  only  by  criminals,  revolutionists, 
and  other  men  who  fear  to  light  in  the  open.  The  anarchis¬ 
tic  agitation  in  Europe  and  America  has  naturally  been 
conducted  through  secret  societies.  The  most  astonish¬ 
ing  development  of  secret  political  association  in  modern 
times  has  been  the  growth  of  the  American  Protective 
Association  in  the  United  States,  an  organization  that  is 
devoted  to  resisting  the  influence  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  upon  American  life.  It  was  organized  at  Clinton, 
Iowa,  in  1887,  and  has  extended  throughout  the  country. 
It  has  influenced  several  local  elections.1 

Non-secret  but  exclusive  clubs  which  combine  political 
with  social  functions,  like  the  Union  League  clubs  that 
were  founded  in  the  larger  American  cities  during  the 
Civil  War,  the  Reform  and  the  City  Reform  clubs  of  New 
York,  and  the  Reform,  the  Conservatives,  and  the  Marl¬ 
borough  clubs  of  London,  have  long  been  a  favourite  form 
of  private  political  organization.  Their  prototype  was 
the  Rota,  which  was  established  at  London  in  1659.  The 
first  political  club  on  the  continent  of  Europe  was  the  Club 
Politique,  founded  at  Paris,  1782.  The  oldest  existing 
political  club  is  the  Civil  Club  of  London,  which  was 
founded  in  1669. 

In  countries  that  enjoy  freedom  under  constitutional 

1  Political  Science  Quarterly,  Vol.  X.,  No.  2,  June,  1896,  p.  371,  and 
“  World  Almanac,”  1895,  p.  115. 


182 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


guarantees  the  active  work  of  politics  is  carried  on  chiefly 
by  open  associations,  to  which  all  voters  desiring  in  good 
faith  to  join  them  are  welcomed.  The  great  political 
parties  of  England  and  the  United  States  are  the  largest; 
they  are  also  the  most  mobile  and  efficient  of  voluntary 
organizations.  Each  includes  among  its  adherents  men  of 
every  degree  of  mental  evolution,  of  almost  every  nation¬ 
ality,  and  of  every  pursuit.  Each  is  so  perfectly  distrib¬ 
uted  over  a  vast  area  that  it  counts  voters  in  every  local 
hamlet  of  the  national  domain.  It  is  exceptional  when 
either  of  the  leading  parties  of  the  United  States  fails  in 
a  presidential  election  to  poll  one-quarter  of  the  total  vote 
of  any  commonwealth.1 

A  great  political  party  represents  no  single  interest. 
It  stands  for  a  general  way  of  looking  at  public  affairs 
and  of  dealing  with  them.  Any  attempt  to  identify  it 
continuously  with  a  particular  policy  is  hopelessj  because 
it  is  always  controlled  by  class  feeling,  and  the  interests  of 
a  class  do  not  remain  unchanged  throughout  a  long  term 
of  years.  Thus  the  Democratic  party  of  the  United  States 
is  commonly  spoken  of  as  the  party  of  strict  construction, 
but  it  has  never  been  consistently  faithful  to  strict  con¬ 
structionist  principles.  It  was  long  the  party  of  slavery, 
but  it  could  not  have  continued  to  be  that;  for  silent 
economic  changes  were  surely  undermining  slavery  when 
the  Civil  War  precipitated  its  downfall.  The  same  party 
once  prided  itself  on  its  opposition  to  internal  improve¬ 
ments,  but  Andrew  Jackson  signed  more  bills  for  internal 
improvements  than  any  other  President.  Before  the  war 
this  party  stood  for  hard  money  ;  after  the  war  it  became 
the  party  of  inflation.  It  has  been  constant  to  only  one 
thing ;  namely,  that  alliance  between  the  landowning  in¬ 
terests  of  the  agricultural  sections  and  the  proletarian 
interests  of  the  industrial  centres  which  has  been  a  con- 

1  See  “The  Nature  and  Conduct  of  Political  Majorities,”  Political 
Science  Quarterly ,  Yol.  VIL,  No.  1,  March,  1892. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


183 


spicuous  feature  of  every  civilization.1  Thus  the  Demo¬ 
cratic  party,  from  first  to  last,  has  been  the  American 
counterpart  of  the  Conservative  party  of  Great  Britain. 
The  American  planter  and  farmer  and  the  Tory  squire 
have  voted  with  and  for  the  wage-earner  from  identical 
motives.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Federal,  Whig,  and 
Republican  parties  of  the  United  States  and  the  Liberal 
party  of  Great  Britain  have  always  been  the  organizations 
of  commercialism  and  capitalism.  It  was  not  more  a 
rational  calculation  of  interests  than  a  blind  consciousness 
of  kind  that  arrayed  Toryism  in  sympathy  with  the  South 
and  Liberalism  with  the  North  in  the  gigantic  struggle 
of  1861. 

Accordingly  there  never  have  been  and  there  never  can 
be  more  than  two  great  political  parties  in  a  nation. 
Accordingly  also  the  policy  of  each  party  on  particular 
issues  will  waver.  Often  on  great  public  questions  the 
parties  may  even  change  places,  and  nothing  can  be 
more  farcical  than  the  arraignment  of  one  party  by  the 
other  for  doing  this  or  for  not  doing  that.  Not  many 
years  pass  before  the  arraignment  returns  upon  the  ar- 
raignors. 

Therefore  only  the  members  of  a  political  party  that 
are  bound  to  it  by  the  consciousness  of  kind  —  that  is,  by 
class  instinct  and  prejudice —  can  be  depended  on  to  vote 
its  ticket  under  all  vicissitudes.  The  men  who  join  it 
from  conviction  or  from  interest  will  necessarily  leave  it 
from  time  to  time,  unless  they  are  prepared  to  sacrifice 
their  interests  or  to  abjure  their  principles.  Therefore 
also,  while  parties  are  relatively  enduring,  majorities  are 
the  most  unstable  products  of  human  combination.  In 
these  facts  we  have  also  the  explanation  of  the  character- 

1  There  are,  of  course,  important  exceptions  to  the  rule  that  the  agri¬ 
cultural  population  is  Democratic.  A  large  part  of  the  farming  population 
of  New  York  State,  for  example,  has  always  been  counted  as  “  solidly 
Republican.”  A  sociological  study  of  such  exceptions  would  be  a  valuable 
investigation. 


184 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


istic  strength  and  weakness  of  each  party.  The  strength 
of  Democracy  is  in  numbers.  Its  weakness  is  the  dispar¬ 
ity  of  its  constituent  classes  —  the  extremes  of  culture 
and  social  position.  The  strength  of  Republicanism  is 
the  solid  class-feeling  of  the  commercial,  capital-accumu¬ 
lating,  middle  rank  of  the  population. 

Second  in  importance  only  to  the  great  political  parties 
are  the  minor,  or  occasional,  political  parties,  that  work 
for  the  achievement  of  particular  ends.  Since  by  their 
very  nature  the  great  parties  care  nothing  for  principles 
or  measures,  principles  and  measures  have  to  be  forced 
upon  them  from  without.  Consequently,  two  or  three 
parties  of  one  idea  apiece  are  always  in  the  field.  They 
seldom  win  elections,  but  they  often  win  a  hearing  and 
concessions.  They  spring  up  suddenly,  grow  with  aston¬ 
ishing  rapidity,  and  as  quickly  melt  away.  Such  were 
the  Anti-Masonic  party  of  1831,  the  Liberty  party  of 
1840  and  the  Free-Soil  party  of  1848,  which  were 
merged  in  the  Republican  party  after  1860 ;  the  Know- 
nothing  party  of  1856,  the  Prohibition  party  of  1872, 
the  Greenback  party  of  1876,  and  the  People’s  party 
of  1892. 

The  evils  of  partisanship,  with  its  greed  of  office  and 
its  indifference  to  the  general  welfare,  have  called  into 
existence  numerous  associations  to  promote  patriotism 
and  to  secure  purity  of  administration.  Such  are  the 
Civil  Service  Reform  Association  and  its  branches ;  the 
Good  Government  clubs,  which  should  be  efficient  organs 
of  municipal  reform ;  and  various  occasional  organiza¬ 
tions  like  the  Philadelphia  Committee  of  One  Hundred 
of  1880,  and  the  New  York  Committee  of  Seventy  of 
1894. 

Finally,  there  are  innumerable  associations  to  promote 
particular  interests,  to  protect  particular  classes,  or  to 
secure  special  legislation.  Some  of  them  are  perma¬ 
nently  organized ;  most  of  them  are  ephemeral. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


185 


The  functions  of  voluntary  political  organizations  may 
be  revolutionary  or  legal.  In  the  nature  of  things  revolu¬ 
tion  can  be  achieved  only  through  voluntary  association. 
If  not  so  obvious,  it  is  just  as  certain  that  a  republican 
form  of  government  can  be  maintained  only  through  the 
tireless  and  infinitely  varied  activity  of  voluntary  politi¬ 
cal  associations  that  keep  within  the  bounds  of  law. 
They  initiate  legislation,  they  criticise  administration, 
they  achieve  reform.  These  are  truths  that  writers  on 
political  science  have  been  slow  to  apprehend.  Every 
one  understands  that  governments  do  not  criticise  and 
reform  themselves.  Not  every  one,  however,  understands 
that  in  modern  times  governments  initiate  but  little  legis¬ 
lation.  The  British  ministry  proposes  a  few  important 
measures,  so  does  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
when  he  happens  to  be  a  forceful  personality,  and  so  do 
the  governors  of  the  commonwealths  and  the  mayors  of 
cities.  But  the  vast  majority  of  all  bills  originate  in  the 
counsels  of  voluntary  associations,  and  are  introduced  in 
legislature,  congress,  or  parliament,  at  the  instigation  of 
associations,  whose  agents  watch  them  through  every 
stage  of  their  progress  to  final  enactment  or  rejection. 
In  short,  without  such  associations  there  could  be  no  such 
thing  as  a  republic  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  The 
alternative  is  bureaucracy  or  absolute  monarchy. 

Of  private  associations  that  assume  juristic  functions 
not  much  is  to  be  said.  With  a  few  exceptions  they  are 
lawless  organizations  that  spring  into  existence  in  the 
absence  of  legally  constituted  courts,  or  when  courts  fail 
to  do  their  full  duty  in  protecting  property  and  life.  It 
is  usually  the  lawless  and  violent  element  in  the  popula¬ 
tion  that  enters  into  the  composition  of  illegal  or  non-legal 
juristic  organizations.  An  exception,  however,  may  be 
noted  in  the  case  of  the  Vigilance  Committee  of  San 
Francisco,  which  was  organized  in  1851.  Many  of  its 


186 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


members  were  order-loving  men,  who  found  it  necessary, 
in  the  absence  of  a  properly  constituted  government,  to 
resort  to  extraordinary  means  to  suppress  an  intolerable 
lawlessness.  The  Ku  Klux  Klan,  which  spread  in  several 
southern  states  in  1866  and  1867,  and  which  attempted  by 
midnight  executions  to  nullify  the  national  legislation 
that  had  conferred  political  rights  upon  the  freedmen,  was 
to  some  extent  composed  of  men  who  sincerely  believed 
that  the  fabric  of  society  would  be  destroyed  unless  the 
Southern  conception  of  rights  and  proprieties  could  be 
maintained.  Its  methods,  however,  never  received  the 
general  approval  of  the  Southern  people.  The  White 
Caps  of  Indiana  and  neighbouring  states  contain  no  ele¬ 
ments  of  moral  respectability,  although  their  professed 
purpose  is  to  enforce  the  social  code  of  morality. 

In  their  constitution  private  juristic  associations  are  usu¬ 
ally  secret  organizations,  as  befits  their  illegal  purpose.  It 
is  quite  possible,  however,  that  in  the  course  of  time  private 
juristic  associations  will  be  openly  and  legally  organized 
to  arbitrate  disputes  or  to  adjust  pecuniary  claims.  In 
fact,  voluntary  boards  of  arbitration  are  now  occasionally 
established,  to  deal  with  disputes  of  an  essentially  juristic 
character  between  employer  and  employed. 

Private  economic  associations  are,  as  a  rule,  composed 
of  individuals  of  like  abilities  and  training.  In  economic 
organization,  less  than  elsewhere  in  society,  does  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  determine  alliances ;  utility  is  the 
controlling  principle.  Yet  even  in  economic  organization 
the  consciousness  of  kind  has  its  influence.  In  the  United 
States  it  is  the  cause  of  a  phenomenon  which  occasions 
much  uneasiness,  namely,  the  refusal  of  white  artisans,  in 
both  the  North  and  the  South,  to  work  with  negroes,  and 
the  practical  exclusion  of  the  negro  from  all  mechanical 
trades.  Consciousness  of  kind  is  the  ground  of  the 
unionist’s  intense  antipathy  to  “  scabs,”  whom  he  pictures 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


187 


in  imagination  very  much  as  the  Brahmin  pictures  the 
Pariah.1  It  also  greatly  complicates  the  problems  of  do¬ 
mestic  service. 

The  categories  of  employer  and  employed  do  not  usually 
^nter  into  the  composition  of  the  same  association.  They 
are  combined  in  industrial  groups  which  unite  two  or  more 
associations,  as,  for  example,  in  a  manufacturing  group  that 
includes  a  partnership  or  a  corporation  as  the  entrepreneur, 
and  members  of  several  trade-unions  as  employees. 

The  constitution  of  private  economic  associations  takes 
the  form  of  partnerships,  corporations,  and  miscellaneous 
associations  not  incorporated.  Partnerships  with  an  un¬ 
limited  liability  of  each  partner,  and  a  limited  capital,  are 
adapted  only  to  small  enterprises.  To  the  evolution  of 
the  corporation  with  its  limited  liability  of  the  individual 
stockholder,  its  control  of  capital  by  the  massing  of  indi¬ 
vidual  accumulations,  and  its  command  of  the  services  of 
men  of  superior  business  ability,  we  owe  the  gigantic  in¬ 
dustrial  undertakings  of  modern  times.  “It  is  doubtful, 
indeed,  if  the  insurance,  banking,  or  transportation  busi¬ 
ness  required  in  our  existing  economic  life  could  have  been 
developed  or  could  be  maintained  without  the  agency  of 
our  corporate  system.”2  Unfortunately,  there  are  no  gen¬ 
eral  statistics  of  corporations.  No  one  knows  how  many 
have  been  chartered  or  how  many  are  now  in  existence. 
In  view  of  the  enormous  part  which  they  play  in  the  eco¬ 
nomic  world,  and  of  the  rather  generous  interest  which 

1  Some  months  after  the  great  strike  of  1895,  I  asked  the  conductor  of 
a  Brooklyn  trolley  car  how  to  find  my  way  to  an  unfamiliar  street.  He 
directed  me  politely,  and,  as  the  event  proved,  with  admirable  preci¬ 
sion.  Whereupon  a  man  sitting  next  to  me  volunteered  the  informa¬ 
tion:  “Excuse  me,  sir,  he  told  you  wrong.  You  see  he  don’t  know 
anything.  He’s  only  a  d — d  scab.  He  took  a  good  man’s  place  when 
the  strike  was  on.”  The  words,  “  You  see  he  don’t  know  anything,” 
were  spoken  with  an  earnest  naivete,  as  if  they  were  a  self-evident  truth 
from  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

2  Charles  Francis  Adams  in  Shaler’s  “  The  United  States  of  America,” 
Vol.  II.,  p.  192. 


188 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


governments  have  lately  taken  in  statistical  inquiries,  this 
is  a  curious  fact.  “For  some  reason  or  other,”  says  Pro¬ 
fessor  Roland  P.  Falkner,  who  recently  attempted  to  in¬ 
vestigate  this  subject,1  “  corporations  as  such  have  never 
sufficiently  occupied  public  attention  to  become  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  official  investigation  either  in  this  country  or  in 
Europe.”  The  numbers  of  particular  classes  of  corpora¬ 
tions,  however,  are  known.  The  total  number  of  railway 
corporations  in  the  United  States  on  June  30,  1893,  was 
1890. 2  There  were  1926  fire,  ocean-marine,  and  inland 
navigation  and  transportation  insurance  companies  and 
fifty-nine  life  insurance  companies  of  the  first  class  re¬ 
ported  as  transacting  business  in  this  country  on  Decem¬ 
ber  31,  1889. 3  In  1891  the  national  banks  numbered 
3677  and  the  savings  banks  1011. 4  In  1893  the  building 
and  loan  associations  numbered  5838. 5 

Of  unincorporated  associations  with  economic  functions 
the  most  important  are  the  trusts  and  the  labour  organ¬ 
izations. 

Practically  every  industry  is  controlled  or  affected  by 
combinations  that  attempt  to  regulate  production  and 
prices.  Some  of  these  combinations  are  mere  agreements, 
while  others  are  somewhat  elaborate  organizations  with 
power  to  impose  strict  conditions  upon  individual  pro¬ 
ducers  and  to  enforce  penalties  against  disobedience.  A 
committee  of  Congress,  which  investigated  trusts  in  1889, 
made  no  attempt  to  enumerate  them  “  for  the  reason  that 
new  ones  are  constantly  forming,  and  that  old  ones  are 
constantly  extending  their  relations  so  as  to  cover  new 
branches  of  the  business  and  invade  new  territories.” 

1  “Statistics  of  Private  Corporations,”  Publications  of  the  American 
Statistical  Association.  New  Series,  No.  10,  June,  1890,  p.  67. 

2  Henry  C.  Adams,  “  Sixth  Annual  Report  on  the  Statistics  of  Rail¬ 
ways  in  the  United  States,”  p.  16. 

8  “Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  II.,  pp.  507,  508. 

4  Gannet,  “  The  Building  of  a  Nation,”  p.  221. 

6  “Ninth  Annual  Report  of  the  Commissioner  of  Labour,”  p.  15. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


189 


Mr.  Henry  D.  Lloyd’s  “  partial  list  of  trade  combinations, 
or  trusts,  achieved  or  attempted,  and  of  the  commodities 
covered  by  them  ” 1  includes  over  one  thousand  names. 

Among  wage-earners’  associations  the  American  Fed¬ 
eration  of  Labour  is  a  good  example  of  complex  yet  flex¬ 
ible  and  efficient  organization.  It  includes  eighty-one 
national  and  international  trade  associations,  and  they 
embrace  7182  local  trade-unions  with  an  aggregate  mem¬ 
bership  of  610,200.  In  addition,  1500  local  unions  not 
belonging  to  any  national  association  are  affiliated  with 
the  Federation.2  The  Knights  of  Labour  at  their  best 
estate  in  1886  included  about  160  district  assemblies, 
nearly  9000  local  assemblies,  and  730,000  members.3  The 
membership  has  since  fallen  away  to  less  than  200, 000. 4 

The  study  of  the  functions  of  private  economic  associa¬ 
tions  falls  within  the  special  social  science  of  political 
economy.  The  functions  include  the  production  of  goods 
in  agriculture,  mining,  and  manufacturing,  by  means  of 
industrial  groups,  which  range  in  complexity  from  the 
combination  of  the  individual  employer  and  his  work¬ 
men  to  the  association  of  great  corporations,  acting  as 
a  unit,  and  their  thousands  of  organized  employees^  the 
transportation  and  exchange  of  goods  by  means  of  rail¬ 
way,  steamship,  and  express  companies,  and  by  mercan¬ 
tile  partnerships  and  corporations  ;  the  equilibration  of 
values  through  ordinary  markets,  through  such  special 
markets  as  produce  and  stock  exchanges,  and  through 
banking  organizations;  the  accumulation  of  capital  and 
the  provision  against  want  by  means  of  institutions  for 
savings,  insurance,  and  mutual  aid ;  and,  finally,  economic 
aggression  and  defence,  through  the  mechanism  of  trusts 
and  trade-unions. 

1  “  Wealth  against  Commonwealth,”  pp.  537-544. 

2  “The  World  Almanac,”  1894,  p.  78. 

3  Wright,  “  An  Historical  Sketch  of  the  Knights  of  Labour,”  in  Quar¬ 
terly  Journal  of  Economics ,  Vol.  I.,  No.  2,  January,  1887,  p.  156. 

4  “The  World  Almanac,”  1894,  p.  78. 


190 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


In  the  composition  of  private  cultural  associations  there 
is  an  alliance  of  persons  of  like  beliefs,  tastes,  and  nat¬ 
ures.  It  is  usually  the  professed  purpose  of  cultural 
association  to  make  belief  or  taste  the  condition  of  mem¬ 
bership,  but  this  ideal  is  never  realized.  The  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind  is  always  present  to  unite  some  whose  beliefs 
differ  and  to  sunder  some  whose  beliefs  agree.  The 
constitution  of  cultural  associations  requires  no  special 
description.  It  takes  the  form  either  of  corporations,  or 
of  unincorporated  societies,  secret  or  open.  The  func¬ 
tions  of  cultural  associations  are  religious,  philanthropic, 
scientific  and  educational,  {esthetic  and  pleasurable. 

The  church  as  a  voluntary  organization  may  exist  in 
a  country  like  England  that  has  an  established  religion, 
but  it  can  attain  its  complete  development  only  in  a 
country  where  state  and  church  are  completely  separated, 
as  in  the  United  States.  In  1890  there  were  143  relig¬ 
ious  denominations  and  165,177  church  organizations  in 
the  United  States.  The  total  number  of  communicants 
was  20, 612, 806. 1  The  Methodist  organizations  numbered 
51,489;  the  Baptist,  42,909;  the  Presbyterian,  13,476; 
the ‘Homan  Catholic,  10,276;  and  the  Lutheran,  8595.3 
The  Roman  Catholics  numbered  6,257,871  communicants ; 
the  Methodists,  4,589,284;  the  Baptists,  3,712,468;  the 
Presbyterians,  1,278,332;  and  the  Lutherans,  1,231,072.® 
Pennsylvania  led  all  the  states  in  the  number  of  its  church 
organizations,  10,175.  Ohio  was  second,  with  9345; 
Texas  third,  with  8766;  Illinois  fourth,  with  8296  ; 
New  York  fifth,  with  8237.  New  York,  however,  led 
in  the  number  of  communicants,  with  2,171,822.  Penn¬ 
sylvania  was  second,  with  1,726,640  ;  Ohio  third,  with 
1,215,409  ;  Illinois  fourth,  with  1,202,588  ;  Massachusetts 
fifth,  with  942, 751. 4  The  negroes,  north  and  south,  have 
their  own  separate  church  organizations. 

1  “  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,”  Part  II.,  p.  261. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  262.  s  Ibid.,  p.  263.  *  Ibid.,  p.  263. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


191 


The  religious  population  of  the  country  is  organized 
also  in  a  bewildering  number  of  special  associations. 
These  include  the  monastic  orders  and  societies  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  the  missionary,  Christian 
Association,  and  Christian  Endeavour  societies,  of  the 
Protestant  denominations.  Since  the  founding  of  the 
New  England  Company  in  1649  to  convert  the  Indians 
of  North  America  over  100  different  missionary  societies 
have  been  organized  by  Protestants.1  Some  of  these  are 
elaborately  organized.  The  most  perfect  of  them  all,  The 
Woman’s  Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  is  a  highly  complex 
federation  of  local  circles  and  county  and  state  branches. 
The  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association,  founded  at  Lon¬ 
don  in  1844,  has  spread  throughout  the  world.  In  1892 
it  included  846  local  associations  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
3361  in  Europe,  1440  in  America,  124  in  Asia,  28  in 
Africa,  and  29  in  Oceania,  and  a  total  membership  of 
418, 972. 2  The  Young  People’s  Society  of  Christian 
Endeavour,  founded  at  Portland,  Maine,  in  1881,  includes 
25,000  local  societies  in  America  and  Europe.3 

To  a  great  extent  private  philanthropic  organizations 
have  assumed  that  friendly,  and,  I  am  tempted  to  say  with 
double  meaning,  that  fostering  care  of  the  unfortunate 
which  formerly  was  exercised  by  the  church.  They  are 
as  many  and  as  varied  as  human  ills,  and  no  complete 
enumeration  of  them  has  ever  been  made.  The  Charity 
Organization  Society  of  New  York  publishes  a  list  of  no 
less  than  1624  flourishing  in  this  one  city.4  Most  of 
them  are  well  endowed.  Charity  Organization  societies, 
modelled  upon  the  London  society,  which  was  founded  in 
1868,  have  been  established  in  seventy-two  cities  and 

1  Bliss,  “  The  Encyclopaedia  of  Missions.” 

2  “Chambers’  Encyclopaedia,”  New  Edition,  Vol.  X. 

3  Francis  E.  Clark,  President  of  the  Society,  in  “Johnson’s  Universal 
Cyclopaedia,”  New  Edition,  Vol.  II. 

4  “New  York  Charities  Directory,”  p.  xxvii. 


192 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


towns  of  the  United  States.1  Their  object  is  to  coordi¬ 
nate  charitable  efforts  and  to  convert  them  into  some¬ 
thing  better  than  irresponsible  almsgiving.  The  State 
Charities  Aid  Association  of  New  York,  which  was  organ¬ 
ized  in  1872,  with  legal  authority  to  watch  and  report 
the  conduct  of  the  public  charitable  institutions  of  the 
state,  is  a  model  of  efficient  organization  for  bringing  an 
intelligent  and  disinterested  philanthropy  to  bear  upon 
the  administration  of  institutions  that  otherwise,  as  sad 
experience  has  proved,  are  at  the  mercy  of  political 
plunderers.  The  National  Conference  of  Charities  and 
Correction  and  the  National  Prison  Congress  are  asso¬ 
ciations  of  students  and  practical  workers  in  many 
branches  of  charity  and  reformation.  University  and 
other  social  settlements,  modelled  more  or  less  closely 
after  the  Toynbee  Hall  experiment,  which  was  begun  in 
East  London  in  1885,  are  carrying  sympathy,  personal 
help,  instruction,  pleasure,  and  examples  of  rational  living 
into  the  darkest  slums  of  great  cities.2  Through  these 
varied  instrumentalities  philanthropy,  which  once  was 
little  more  than  a  giving  of  doles  to  beggars,  is  becoming 
a  true  cultural  activity,  developing  whatever  possibilities 
of  good  there  may  be  in  the  defective  and  the  destitute, 
and  converting  thoughtless  givers  into  responsible  moral 
beings. 

Large  as  is  the  field  occupied  by  government  scientific 
bureaus,  state  universities,  and  the  public  schools,  fully 
one  half  of  all  scientific  and  educational  activity  is  carried 
on  through  private  organizations  ;  namely,  the  national 

1  Kellogg,  “Charity  Organization  in  the  United  States,”  Appendix  A. 
“Proceedings  of  National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correction.” 
Twentieth  Annual  Session. 

2  See  Jane  Addams  and  others,  “Philanthropy  and  Social  Progress”; 
Jane  Addams  and  others,  “Hull  House  Maps  and  Papers”;  Woods, 
“English  Social  Movements,”  and  the  Annual  Reports  of  the  Univer¬ 
sity  Settlement  Society  of  New  York,  the  College  Settlements  Association, 
and  the  East  Side  House. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


193 


and  local  learned  bodies,  the  private  schools,  and  the 
denominational  colleges.  In  the  United  States  every 
branch  of  research,  from  physics,  chemistry,  and  astron¬ 
omy,  to  philology  and  folklore,  is  fostered  by  an  associa¬ 
tion.  A  large  majority  of  the  451  degree-conferring 
colleges  and  universities  are  private  foundations,  and  the 
larger  part  of  their  $94,500,758  of  productive  funds  has 
been  given  to  them  by  individuals.1 

Fraternal  societies  usually  combine  mutual  aid  with 
social  pleasure,  as  do,  for  example,  the  Free  Masons  and 
the  Odd  Fellows.  Associations  for  the  promotion  of  art 
or  music  sometimes  serve  no  other  end ;  social  clubs 
sometimes  become  active  political  organizations ;  but  in 
general  the  chief  objects  of  all  these  organizations  are 
personal  culture  and  social  enjoyment.  They  are  far  too 
many  and  varied  for  description.  They  are  not  iden¬ 
tified  with  any  class,  nationality,  or  race.  The  West-side 
New  Yorker  who  thinks  of  clubs  and  musical  societies 
as  institutions  that  belong  within  two  or  three  blocks  of 
Fifth  Avenue  would  be  surprised  were  he  to  take  a  census 
of  the  similar  organizations  of  the  East-side.  Of  the 
375  societies  that  participated  in  the  demonstration  for  a 
liberal  Sunday  law  in  September,  1895,  more  than  half 
were  musical  associations  and  social  clubs.2  Nor  are  such 
organizations  peculiar  to  western  civilization.  The  Rev. 
Justus  Doolittle3  describes  five  different  kinds  of  clubs 
that  flourish  in  the  Flowery  Kingdom.  These  are :  the 
literary  clubs,  composed  of  eight  or  ten  students  each, 
some  of  undergraduates,  some  of  graduates ;  the  recreat¬ 
ing  clubs,  composed  of  rich  men  of  middle  age,  for  drink¬ 
ing,  card  playing,  and  chess,  during  the  sixth  and  seventh 
months ;  the  wine  clubs,  composed  of  rich  young  men, 
for  feasting,  wine  drinking,  card  playing,  and  the  enjoy- 

1  See  Annual  Reports  of  Commissioner  of  Education. 

*  See  list  in  New  York  Times  of  September  20,  1895. 

8  “Social  Life  of  the  Chinese,”  Vol.  H.,  pp.  213-216. 


194 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ment  of  music ;  the  old  men’s  clubs,  in  which  gambling 
is  a  favourite  excitement ;  and  the  musical  clubs,  in  which 
the  music  is  helped  out  with  tea  and  tobacco. 

Certain  generalizations  may  be  derived  from  the  fore' 
going  description  of  the  social  constitution. 

The  analogy  of  the  social  constitution  to  the  constitu¬ 
tion  of  a  biotic  organism  is  real.  Mr.  Spencer’s  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  political  organization  of  society  as  a  regulating 
system  that  corresponds  to  the  cerebral  nervous  system 
of  an  animal,  and  of  the  industrial  organization  as  a 
sustaining  system  that  corresponds  to  an  alimentary  ap¬ 
paratus,  is  not  fanciful.1  The  analogy  is  of  limited  scien¬ 
tific  value,  however,  until  it  is  supplemented  by  a  close 
study  of  those  features  of  social  organization  that  are 
distinctive. 

The  most  important  of  these  has  been  disclosed  in  the 
discovery  that  governments  and  private  organizations 
duplicate  each  other’s  functions.  Though  in  the  animal 
many  vital  organs  are  duplicated,  there  is  never  a  com¬ 
plete  duplication  of  the  alimentary,  the  circulatory,  or  the 
nervous  system.  In  the  social  constitution  either  public 
or  private  association  can  assume  any  social  function  at 
need.  It  is  as  if  the  cerebral  nervous  system  on  the  one 
hand  had  the  emergency  power  to  organize  from  the  body 
tissues  a  new  alimentary  and  circulatory  system,  and  the 
sympathetic  nervous  system  on  the  other  hand  could,  if 
necessary,  assume  the  functions  of  the  brain  and  spinal 
cord.  Public  and  private  associations  have  such  emer¬ 
gency  powers  because,  as  has  been  shown,  there  is  at  all 
times  much  duplication  of  functions  in  every  essential 
class  of  social  services.  In  times  of  danger  the  govern¬ 
ment  can  operate  fleets  and  railways,  build  bridges,  manu¬ 
facture  goods,  and  transact  financial  operations  on  a  vast 

1  “The  Social  Organism,”  Westminster  Beview,  Vol.  XVII.,  January, 
1860  ;  and  “  The  Principles  of  Sociology,”  Vol.  I.,  Part  II.,  Chaps.  II. -IX. 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSTITUTION 


195 


scale,  because  in  times  of  security  it  often  does  such  things 
on  a  small  scale.  In  times  of  anarchy  or  revolution  pri¬ 
vate  associations  can  protect  life  and  property,  administer 
justice,  and  organize  a  provisional  government,  because 
in  times  of  peace  they  initiate  legislation  and  hold  govern¬ 
ments  to  their  work. 

This  generalization  is  of  practical  no  less  than  of  scien¬ 
tific  value.  It  is  the  one  adequate  principle  by  which  to 
judge  the  pretensions  of  socialism  and  of  individualism. 
The  socialists  are  right  when  they  say  that  if  it  were 
necessary  or  desirable  the  state  could  carry  on  all  social 
undertakings  through  public  agencies.  The  individualists 
are  equally  right  when  they  say  that  society  could  exist 
and  in  a  way  could  achieve  its  ends  without  authoritative 
governments.  Socialists  and  individualists  are  both  wrong 
when  they  suppose  that  either  of  these  things  will  happen 
under  a  normal  social  evolution.  The  actual  distribution 
of  functions  between  public  and  private  agencies  is  a  vary' 
ing  one  ;  it  changes  with  changing  circumstances.  So 
long  as  conditions  are  normal,  movements  that  tend  on 
the  one  hand  to  increase  public  activity,  or  on  the  other 
hand  to  enlarge  the  opportunities  for  private  initiative, 
are  self-limiting.  They  are  tendencies  towards  equilib¬ 
rium.  Whatever  belittles  the  state  or  destroys  popular 
faith  in  its  power  to  perform  any  kind  of  social  service, 
whatever  impairs  the  popular  habit  of  achieving  ends  by 
private  initiative  and  voluntary  organization,  endangers 
society  and  prevents  the  full  realization  of  its  ends. 

Another  generalization  from  the  description  of  the 
social  constitution  is  that  the  various  organizations  of  so¬ 
ciety  are  not  only  correlated,  but  are  also  subordinated, 
some  to  other  organizations,  and  all  to  a  general  end. 
The  supreme  end  of  society  in  general  is  the  protection 
and  perfection  of  sentient  life.  The  end  of  human  society 
is  the  development  of  the  rational  and  spiritual  person¬ 
ality  of  its  members.  Only  the  cultural  associations  are 


196 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


immediately  concerned  in  this  function.  Educational  in¬ 
stitutions,  religious,  scientific,  ethical,  and  aesthetic  organ¬ 
izations,  and  polite  society  act  for  good  or  ill  directly 
upon  the  individual.  To  these  the  economic,  the  legal, 
and  the  political  organizations  are,  in  a  functional  sense, 
subordinate  ;  in  a  functional  sense  they  exist  for  the  sake 
of  cultural  organization  and  activity.  The  social  mind 
has  always  perceived  this  truth,  and  by  means  of  its  sanc¬ 
tions  has  endeavoured  to  mould  the  social  constitution 
into  accordance  with  it.  Associations  and  relationships 
are  fostered  or  abolished  with  a  view  to  cultural,  no  less 
than  to  protective,  ends. 

For  both  ends  specialization  and  a  division  of  labour 
are  necessary.  Therefore  while  society  maintains  the 
homogeneity  of  its  composition,  it  is  obliged  to  tolerate 
and  to  promote  differentiation  in  its  constitution.  Psy¬ 
chologically,  therefore,  the  social  constitution  is  the  pre¬ 
cise  opposite  of  the  social  composition ;  it  is  an  alliance  of 
the  like  and  a  non-toleration  of  the  unlike  in  each  simple 
association,  supplemented  by  toleration  and  coordination 
of  the  unlike  in  complex  association  —  that  is,  in  the  re¬ 
lations  of  each  association  to  other  associations  and  to 
society  at  large. 


Book  III 


THE  HISTORICAL  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY 


CHAPTER  I 


ZOOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 

Ip  animal  life  in  the  primeval  ages  was  not  wholly 
different  from  animal  life  now,  association  had  been 
quietly  working  its  transforming  results  for  millions  of 
years  before  mankind  appeared  on  the  earth. 

Genetic  and  congregate  groupings  had  enlarged  and 
diminished ;  they  had  flourished  here  and  perished  there, 
as  the  swaying  of  the  earth  in  its  orbit,  the  oscillations  of 
its  surface  and  the  shifting  of  its  air  and  ocean  currents, 
had  made  one  region  bountiful,  another  desolate.  Con¬ 
tact  had  pained,  terrorized,  repelled;  it  had  delighted, 
fascinated,  attracted.  Unlikeness  and  likeness  of  kind 
had  been  distinguished.  Communication  of  feelings  and 
of  simple  ideas,  by  attitudes,  tones,  and  gestures  had  been 
practised  by  millions  of  creatures.  Attack  and  imitation 
had  harmonized  and  assimilated  ;  they  had  differentiated 
and  sundered.  Conflict  had  often  resulted  in  the  equilib¬ 
rium  of  toleration.  Mutual  aid,  the  intoxication  of  play, 
companionship,  and  sympathy  had  become  bonds  of  union 
in  bands  unnumbered.  An  elementary  social  conscious¬ 
ness  had  been  developing,  and  probably  the  beginnings 
of  tradition  had  appeared,  in  habits  of  hunting,  fishing, 
and  migration,  and  in  the  arts  of  nest  building  and  dam 
building.  Family  relationships  were  established,  and 
simple  beginnings  had  been  made  in  the  division  of  labour 
and  in  functional  association. 

Is  it  possible  to  believe  that  these  social  acquisitions 
played  no  part  in  the  differentiation  and  survival  of  animal 

199 


200 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


types  ?  Is  there  not  a  fatal  lack  in  the  biological  philos¬ 
ophy  that  ignores  the  social  factor  and  attempts  to  account 
for  variation  through  physiological  processes  only?  Was 
not  animal  intelligence  a  selective  agent  that  combined  and 
recombined  the  factors  of  evolution  ?  And  was  not  asso¬ 
ciation  a  factor  in  the  development  of  intelligence  ? 

How  association  modifies  the  natures  of  associated  in¬ 
dividuals  has  been  shown.1  It  may  be  well  now  to 
recapitulate  the  exposition  in  the  past  tense  and  with 
exclusive  reference  to  animal  life,  in  order  to  bring  out 
clearly  the  relation  of  association  to  the  whole  marvellous 
process  of  variation.  All  reconstruction  of  the  past  is 
inference,  and  the  statements  that  follow  are  inferences 
merely.  They  are  made  dogmatic  in  form  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  simplicity  that  best  reveals  their  probability. 

The  mental  consequences  of  association  were,  first,  an 
original  development  of  native  susceptibilities  and  powers, 
namely:  1,  of  the  susceptibility  to  suggestion;  2,  of  the 
capability  of  imitation ;  3,  of  antipathies ;  4,  of  sympathies ; 
5,  of  the  power  of  discrimination,  and  6,  of  the  power  of 
coordination.  They  were,  secondly,  a  considerable  accum¬ 
ulation  of  knowledge.  They  were,  thirdly,  a  further  de¬ 
velopment  of  all  acquisitions,  powers,  and  susceptibilities, 
through  endless  combinations  and  reactions.  Through 
suggestion  and  imitation  all  knowledge  of  the  environ¬ 
ment,  of  foods  and  of  dangers,  which  was  acquired  by  one 
soon  became  the  possession  of  all.  The  peculiar  skill  of 
one  in  capturing  or  evading  became  in  like  manner  the 
skill  of  all.  Combined  action  in  hunting  and  fishing 
and  in  defence  was  a  constant  discipline  of  antipathies 
and  sympathies,  and  of  powers  of  discrimination  and  of 
coordination. 

These  modifications  reacted  upon  nerve  and  brain. 
Through  nerve  and  brain  they  reacted  further,  physio¬ 
logically  and  morphologically,  upon  the  whole  organism. 

t 

1  Ante,  p.  121  sq. 


zoOgenic  association 


201 


By  every  advance  in  association  the  bodily  organism  was 
necessarily  modified  in  some  degree  to  correspond  to  the 
development  of  feeling  and  intelligence. 

Besides  acting  thus  indirectly  upon  the  physical  system, 
association  acted  upon  it  directly ;  through  superior  nutri¬ 
tion  and  a  relative  security,  through  reproduction,  and 
through  natural  and  sexual  selection. 

The  social  animal  usually  enjoyed  an  ampler  food- 
supply  than  the  non-social  animal.  Through  suggestion, 
imitation,  and  cooperation  the  group  was  able  in  most  in¬ 
stances  to  find  and  to  take  possession  of  the  better  oppor¬ 
tunities,  and  the  individual  that  wandered  alone  was  driven 
away  from  the  feast  of  those  in  whose  life  he  would  not 
share. 

At  times,  however,  the  population  of  a  social  group  mul¬ 
tiplied  rapidly  while  food  was  abundant,  and  subsequently 
was  unable  to  find  adequate  supplies.  Starvation  there¬ 
upon  began  its  work  on  the  weaker  individuals,  and  left 
only  the  stronger  as  breeders.  The  larger  then  the  group, 
the  more  thorough  was  the  terrible  hut  beneficial  natural 
selection. 

Again,  in  the  larger  groups  sexual  selection  had  the 
freer  play,  and  it  became  more  discriminating  as  associa¬ 
tion  became  closer.  A  feeble,  unimportant  process  among 
sluggish  creatures  that  mingled  but  little,  it  became  a  con¬ 
spicuous  factor  in  evolution  among  actively  associating 
birds  and  mammals  of  keen  intelligence  that  were  passion¬ 
ately  fond  of  play  and  companionship. 

Yet  again,  the  greater  the  variety  of  elements  that  were 
united  in  the  demotic  composition  and  the  more  perfect 
their  intermingling  through  association,  the  greater  was 
the  plasticity  and  modifiability  of  the  population  and  the 
greater  therefore  was  its  capacity  for  improvement. 

Mutual  aid,  including  all  forms  of  cooperation,  effected 
changes  in  the  environment.  In  the  fauna,  dangerous 
species  that  were  hostile  to  a  powerful  group  were  driven 


202 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


from  the  neighbourhood  or  were  destroyed.  Others,  be¬ 
coming  a  food-supply,  were  exterminated  throughout  wide 
areas.  Similar  changes  were  produced  in  the  flora.  Exten¬ 
sive  transformations  were  sometimes  made  in  the  inorganic 
environment,  by  constructive  animals,  as,  for  example, 
by  village-building  termites  or  by  dam-building  beavers. 
Still  more  extensive,  and  more  important,  was  the  net¬ 
work  of  paths  and  trails  worn  through  the  forest,  and 
over  mesa  and  plain,  by  migrating  bands  of  gregarious 
mammals. 

If  environment,  intermixture,  selection,  and  organic  adap¬ 
tation  were  cooperating  causes  of  variation,  and  if  each  of 
them  was  affected  to  a  considerable  extent  by  association, 
association  was  one  of  the  great  cooperating  causes  of  the 
origin  of  species. 

To  attribute  to  social  relations  so  important  a  part  in 
the  evolution  of  animal  life,  is  possibly  a  radical  proposi¬ 
tion.  But  it  is  not  as  radical  as  one  that  remains  to  be 
made.  Not  only  did  association  act  upon  those  causes  of 
variation  that  biologists  have  perceived,  but  it  also  con¬ 
tributed  a  cause  which  they  have  not  adequately  recog¬ 
nized  as  one  that  operated  incessantly  among  the  lower 
animals  in  the  ages  before  man. 

That  cause  was  nothing  less  than  conscious  selection. 
It  is  not  possible  to  doubt  that  for  thousands  of  years 
before  man  existed,  natural  selection  was  everywhere 
supplemented  by  conscious  choice,  a  direct  product  of 
association. 

This,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  a  bold  assumption.  But 
to  deny  it  is  to  affirm  an  alternative  too  absurd  for  belief. 
It  is  to  affirm  that  after  consciousness  and  choice  appeared 
in  the  animal  creation,  they  did  not  react  upon  the  pro¬ 
cesses  of  evolution.  It  is  to  affirm  that  sympathies  and 
antipathies,  consciousness  of  kind  and  mutual  aid,  did 
not  guide  the  crossing  of  stocks  or  affect  the  stability  of 


ZOOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


203 


environing  conditions.  Such  propositions  carry  their  own 
refutation. 

From  the  moment  that  conscious  association  began,  it 
was  a  combining  agency  among  the  factors  of  evolution. 
Among  locomotive  animals  it  was  continually  facilitating 
combinations  of  inheritance  of  a  sort  that  were  impossible 
to  non-locomotive  animals  and  to  plants ;  it  was  making 
other  combinations  difficult,  and  yet  others  impossible. 
When  variations  had  thus  been  brought  about,  they  became 
confirmed  in  types  or  species  only  if  the  new  varieties 
were  shielded  for  a  long  time  from  influences  that  would 
further  modify  them.  The  protection  that  plants  and 
non-locomotive  animals  had  enjoyed  was  simply  that  of  a 
relative  inability  to  wander  and  intermingle.  The  power 
to  move  about,  when  it  was  acquired,  destroyed  all  that 
security.  What  was  it  that  then  took  the  place  of  local 
attachment  as  a  protective  condition  ?  There  is  no  satis¬ 
factory  answer  other  than  that  which  is  found  in  the  facts 
of  association.  It  was  association  that  maintained  the 
necessary  isolation ;  that  drew  lines  of  separation  through 
and  through  the  animal  kingdom;  that  excluded  incongru¬ 
ous  elements  from  each  group ;  and  that  held  congruous 
elements  together  in  close  interaction,  until  a  type  had 
become  fixed. 

Association,  in  short,  was  a  chief  cause  of  variation  and 
of  characterization.  It  created  new  varieties,  and  in  them 
it  reproduced,  in  ever-increasing  strength,  the  instinct  to 
associate. 

In  the  last  consideration  we  pass  from  the  problem  of 
variation  to  that  of  survival. 

The  chief  organic  result  of  social  life  among  animals, 
was  a  more  perfect  organization  of  the  individual  brain 
and  nervous  system,  and,  in  consequence,  a  noteworthy 
transformation  in  the  character  of  the  struggle  for  exist¬ 
ence.  Thenceforward  intelligence,  as  Mr.  Wallace  has 


204 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


shown,  counted  for  more  than  brute  strength.  If  then  it 
was  association  that  developed  intelligence,  and  with  intel¬ 
ligence  the  power  to  cooperate,  association  was  a  chief 
cause  of  survival  as  well  as  of  variation.  Social  life  itself, 
however,  developed  with  the  progressive  weeding  out  of 
unsocial  creatures,  which  became  a  more  easy  prey  to  phys¬ 
ical  forces  and  living  enemies.  That  some  of  the  most 
powerful  animals,  the  carnivora  for  example,  are  singu¬ 
larly  unsocial  and  ferocious,  is  an  apparent  contradiction 
to  this  explanation.  But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
carnivora  were  always  unsocial.  It  is  at  least  possible 
that  they  are  degenerates ;  and  that  in  a  more  social  life  in 
former  times,  when  their  numbers  were  greater  than  they 
are  now,  they  acquired  the  power  and  the  cunning  that 
made  them  able  to  live  alone,  and  to  maintain  themselves 
against  all  foes.  In  isolation  all  sympathetic  feelings 
have  disappeared,  and  only  the  cruel  side  of  their  nature 
has  developed. 

In  further  proof  of  the  influence  of  association  upon 
survival  we  have  the  evidence  afforded  by  existing  animal 
life,  which  has  been  put  together  in  M.  Kropotkin’s  re¬ 
markable  papers.1  A  few  further  citations  from  these 
must  be  given. 

“The  ant,”  says  M.  Kropotkin,  “  thrives  without  hav¬ 
ing  any  of  the  ‘  protective  ’  features  which  cannot  be  dis¬ 
pensed  with  by  animals  living  an  isolated  life.  Its  colour 
renders  it  conspicuous  to  its  enemies,  and  the  lofty  nests  of 
many  species  are  conspicuous  in  the  meadows  and  forests.” 
The  sting  of  a  single  individual  is  not  formidable.  Its 
eggs  and  larvae  are  a  dainty  to  many  inhabitants  of  the 
forest.  Yet  ants  are  not  much  destroyed  by  birds,  not  even 
by  ant-eaters,  and  are  dreaded  by  most  stronger  insects.2 

1  Kropotkin’s  examples  are  drawn  largely  from  that  exhaustless  source : 
Alfred  Brehm’s  “  Illustriertes  Thierleben.”  I  follow  Kropotkin  in  my 
text  and  references,  however,  because  it  is  his  original  interpretation  of 
this  material  that  is  significant. 

2  Kropotkin,  loc.  c it.,  p.  345. 


ZOOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


205 


The  cranes  usually  hatch  but  two  eggs  at  an  incubation, 
but  to  maintain  the  species  they  do  not  need  to  rear  a 
numerous  offspring;  their  social  habits,  intelligence,  and 
prudence  enable  them  often  to  attain  to  a  great  age.1 

In  their  societies  parrots  “  find  infinitely  more  protection 
than  they  possibly  might  find  in  any  ideal  development  of 
beak  and  claw.  Very  few  birds  of  prey  or  mammals  dare 
attack  any  but  the  smaller  species  of  parrots.”  “  ‘  It  is 
most  probable  that  the  larger  parrots  succumb  chiefly  to 
old  age  rather  than  die  from  the  claws  of  any  enemies.’  ”  2 

Horses,  “  badly  organized  on  the  whole  for  resisting  both 
their  numerous  enemies  and  the  adverse  conditions  of 
climate,  would  soon  have  disappeared  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth  were  it  not  for  their  sociable  spirit.  When  a 
beast  of  prey  approaches  them,  several  studs  unite  at  once  ; 
they  repulse  the  beast  and  sometimes  chase  it :  and  neither 
the  wolf  nor  the  bear,  not  even  the  lion,  can  capture  a 
horse  or  even  a  zebra  as  long  as  they  are  not  detached 
from  the  herd.  .  .  .  And  when  a  snowstorm  rages  in 
the  steppes,  each  stud  keeps  close  together,  and  repairs  to 
a  protected  ravine.  But  if  confidence  disappears,  or  the 
group  has  been  seized  by  panic,  and  disperses,  the  horses 
perish  and  the  survivors  are  found  after  the  storm  half 
dying  from  fatigue.”  3 

“  That  life  in  societies  is  the  most  powerful  weapon  in 
the  struggle  for  life,  taken  in  its  widest  sense,  has  been 
illustrated  by  several  examples  on  the  foregoing  pages, 
and  could  be  illustrated  by  any  amount  of  evidence,  if 
further  evidence  were  required.  Life  in  societies  enables 
the  feeblest  insects,  the  feeblest  birds,  and  the  feeblest 
mammals  to  resist,  or  to  protect  themselves  from  the  most 
terrible  birds,  and  beasts  of  prey  ;  it  permits  longevity ;  it 
enables  the  species  to  rear  its  progeny  with  the  least  waste 

1  Kropotkin,  loc.  tit .,  p.  352. 

3  Ibid.,  p.  353. 

»  Ibid.,  pp.  706,  707. 


206 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  energy  and  to  maintain  its  numbers  albeit  a  very  slow 
birth  rate ;  it  enables  the  gregarious  animals  to  migrate  in 
search  of  new  abodes.  Therefore,  while  fully  admitting 
that  force,  swiftness,  protective  colours,  cunningness,  and 
endurance  to  hunger  and  cold,  which  are  mentioned  by 
Darwin  and  Wallace,  are  so  many  qualities  making  the 
individual,  or  the  species,  the  fittest  under  certain  circum¬ 
stances,  we  maintain  that  under  any  circumstances  socia¬ 
bility  is  the  greatest  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  life. 
Those  species  which  willingly  or  unwillingly  abandon  it 
are  doomed  to  decay;  while  those  animals  which  know 
best  how  to  combine  have  the  greatest  chances  of  survi¬ 
val  and  of  further  evolution,  although  they  may  be  inferior 
to  others  in  each  of  the  faculties  enumerated  by  Darwin 
and  Wallace,  save  the  intellectual  faculty.  The  highest 
vertebrates,  and  especially  mankind,  are  the  best  proof  of 
this  assertion.  As  to  the  intellectual  faculty,  while  every 
Darwinist  will  agree  with  Darwin  that  it  is  the  most  pow¬ 
erful  arm  in  the  struggle  for  life,  and  the  most  powerful 
factor  of  further  evolution,  he  also  will  admit  that  intelli¬ 
gence  is  an  eminently  social  faculty.  Language,  imitation, 
and  accumulated  experience  are  so  many  elements  of  grow¬ 
ing  intelligence  of  which  the  unsociable  animal  is  deprived. 
Therefore  we  find,  at  the  top  of  each  class  of  animals,  the 
ants,  the  parrots,  and  the  monkeys,  all  combining  the 
greatest  sociability  with  the  highest  development  of  intel¬ 
ligence.  The  fittest  are  thus  the  most  sociable  animals, 
and  sociability  appears  as  the  chief  factor  of  evolution,  both 
directly,  by  securing  the  well-being  of  the  species  while 
diminishing  the  waste  of  energy,  and  indirectly,  by  favour¬ 
ing  the  growth  of  intelligence.”  1 

On  the  whole  we  may  accept  M.  Kropotkin’s  conclusion 
that  society  has  been  a  more  powerful  aid  than  any  other 
in  the  struggle  for  existence.  But  it  has  been  so,  not 
because  of  any  mysterious  power  in  itself,  but  because  it 

1  Kropotkin,  loc.  cit p.  711. 


ZOOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


207 


has  acted  directly  on  the  characters  of  the  associated  in¬ 
dividuals,  transforming  them  gradually,  and  by  degrees 
developing  mental  power. 

Thus  throughout  the  ages  before  man  association  was 
zoogenic.  It  was  causing  variation  and  was  determining 
survival.  It  was  differentiating  animal  life  into  kinds  and 
was  bringing  to  a  high  perfection  the  kinds  that  were  best 
equipped  with  a  social  nature,  with  habits  of  mutual  aid, 
and  with  elementary  forms  of  social  organization. 

In  achieving  all  this,  association  was  preparing  the  way 
for  man  and  for  human  society.  It  was  endowing  a  few 
varieties  that  were  not  yet  hardened  into  species,  with  such 
mental  capacities  that  from  among  them  one  could  be  se¬ 
lected  for  the  highest  destinies.  It  was  so  far  developing 
the  social  instincts  of  others  that  they  could  become  useful 
cooperators  with  man  after  he  should  have  made  himself 
the  master  of  all  lower  species.  If  he  had  not  been  able 
to  domesticate  animals,  man  could  never  have  achieved 
civilization.  He  could  not  have  domesticated  animals  if 
they  had  not  first  acquired  in  association  a  teachable  dispo¬ 
sition  and  a  high  intelligence.  The  elephant,  the  horse, 
the  ox,  the  sheep,  the  llama,  the  dog,  —  these  have  been 
man’s  faithful  servants  and  these  are  the  preeminently  social 
animals.  Thousands  of  years,  perhaps  millions  of  years, 
before  man  was  born,  the  foundations  of  his  empire  were 
laid  in  the  zoogenic  associations  of  the  humblest  forms  of 
conscious  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  the  continuity  of  animal 
and  human  society.  The  fact  here  referred  to  must  not 
be  confounded  with  the  descent  of  man  from  some  lower 
ancestor.  The  doctrine  of  descent  rests  on  proofs  that 
fall  within  the  sciences  of  biology  and  geology.  Sociology 
accepts  their  conclusion  and  inquires  whether  the  earliest 
men  were  isolated  pairs,  descended  perhaps  from  a  single 
pair,  or  whether  the  transition  from  the  animal  to  the 
human  state  was  made  by  entire  social  groups.  There  is 
no  evidence  whatever  for  the  theory  of  a  single  pair,  or 
for  any  theory  of  numerous  isolated  pairs,  the  progenitors 
of  different  varieties  of  men.  On  the  contrary,  there  is 
much  evidence  of  another  kind  which  raises  insuperable 
difficulties  against  the  acceptance  of  such  views. 

All  the  remains  of  primitive  men  show  that  they  lived  as 
savage  men  live  now,  in  groups.  The  ape-like  ancestor  of 
man  also  must  have  been  a  social  animal.1  Is  there  any 
reason  to  suppose  that  between  the  social  anthropoid  and 
the  social  primitive  man  there  was  intercalated  a  pair 
living  out  of  social  relations  and  so  far  differing  mentally 
and  physically  from  all  other  creatures  that  any  society 
with  them  was  impossible  ?  If  there  is,  it  would  be  as  well 
to  go  back  to  the  hypothesis  of  special  creation ;  for  the 
mental  and  physical  differences  that  mark  men  off  from 
other  creatures  are  those  that  are  created  by  social  inter¬ 
course,  and  without  society  they  could  not  have  had  a 

1  Darwin,  “  Descent  of  Man,”  p.  180. 

208 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


209 


natural  genesis.  Speech  is  the  specific  attainment  that 
separates  man  from  the  brute  and  is  the  means  to  the 
development  of  his  higher  intellectual  qualities.  “  With¬ 
out  the  use  of  some  language,  however  imperfect,  it  appears 
doubtful  whether  man’s  intellect  could  have  risen  to  the 
standard  implied  by  his  dominant  position  at  an  early 
period.”  1  Moreover,  the  patriarchal  theory  of  the  origin 
of  society  has  been  broken  down  at  a  dozen  points,  and 
with  it  have  gone  most  of  the  preconceptions  out  of  which 
the  theory  of  a  single  pair  was  evolved. 

We  have  three  means  of  determining  approximately  the 
social  characteristics  of  primitive  men.  One  is  a  consider¬ 
able  body  of  biological  and  geological  facts  from  which  we 
may  infer  the  nature  of  primitive  man  and  the  conditions 
under  which  he  lived.  A  second  is  an  increasing  mass  of 
archaeological  materials  which  reveal  many  things  about 
the  life  of  the  first  men  that  left  positive  traces  of  their 
existence.  The  third  is  a  general  parallelism  between 
some  features  of  primitive  society  and  some  features  of  the 
lowest  societies  of  existing  savages. 

There  are  many  reasons  for  assuming  the  parallelism. 
One  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  beliefs  and  customs  of 
civilized  peoples  contain  many  survivals  of  beliefs  and 
practices  that  still  exist  in  full  force  in  savage  communi¬ 
ties.  These  indicate  not  only  that  civilized  nations  have 
developed  from  savagery,  but  that  existing  savage  hordes 
are  in  a  stage  of  arrested  development,  and  therefore  ap¬ 
proximately  in  the  condition  of  primitive  men.  Another 
reason  for  the  assumption  is  afforded  by  the  fact  that  the 
oldest  remains  of  human  workmanship  show  that  paleo¬ 
lithic  and  neolithic  men  had  the  same  arts  that  savage  men 
have  at  the  present  time. 

Nevertheless,  no  existing  society  can  be  classified  as  an¬ 
thropogenic.  None  is  as  low  in  the  scale  of  evolution  as 
1  Darwin,  “  Descent  of  Man,”  p.  180. 


210 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


primitive  human  society  must  have  been,  and  none  is 
wholly  lacking  in  those  beginnings  of  organization  on 
clanship  or  tribal  lines  that  entitle  it  to  be  classified  as 
ethnogenic. 

Moreover,  the  parallelism  has  certain  important  limita¬ 
tions  which  should  always  be  remembered.  Modern  sav- 
age  groups  live  in  the  relatively  barren,  inhospitable, 
inaccessible  regions  of  the  earth,  into  which  they  have  been 
crowded  by  stronger  peoples.  It  is  practically  certain 
that  the  first  habitat  of  man  was  a  bountiful  and  highly 
favoured  area.  These  differences  of  circumstance  would 
make  important  differences  between  the  social,  mental, 
and  physical  characteristics  of  the  lowest  modern  men, 
and  the  men  of  primitive  hordes.  Modern  savages  are 
doubtless  in  some  degree  degenerate;  enfeebled  and  on 
the  way  to  extinction.  Primitive  men  had  no  greater 
intelligence  than  modern  savages  have,  and  they  had  sub¬ 
stantially  the  same  ideas  that  savages  have,  although  they 
were  possibly  in  many  ways  more  distinctly  animal  than 
savages  are  ;  but  it  is  probable  that  primitive  men  were 
relatively  well  nourished,  and  that  they  lived  in  relatively 
large  bands  and  evolved  a  relatively  large  total  of  energy 
for  expenditure  in  the  life  struggle.  These  differences 
would  affect  the  rate  of  social  evolution  rather  than  its 
forms  and  stages.  For  the  study  of  the  latter  we  may 
assume  the  parallelism  with  much  confidence.  Anthropo¬ 
logical  sociology,  therefore,  is  a  study  of  the  societies 
of  primitive  men  as  inferentially  reconstructed,  and  of 
existing  savage  communities  as  far  as  they  can  be  sup¬ 
posed  to  afford  data  for  an  understanding  of  human 
origins. 

Proofs  are  abundant  that  the  natural  food-supply  con¬ 
ditioned  social  congregation  among  prehistoric  men.  Shell 
heaps  like  those  of  Tierra  del  Fuego  left  by  early  neolithic 
men  are  found  “here  and  there  all  round  the  coasts  of 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


211 


the  world.” 1  On  the  coasts  of  Denmark  some  of  these 
“  kitchen  middens  ”  are  nine  hundred  feet  long,  from  one 
hundred  to  two  hundred  feet  wide,  and  from  three  to  five, 
occasionally  even  ten  feet,  in  thickness.2  The  oldest  posi¬ 
tively  identified  remains  of  primitive  man  (the  paleolithic 
implements  and  weapons  found  in  the  river  drift  and  cav¬ 
erns  of  northwestern  France  and  southern  England)  are 
mingled  with  the  bones  of  animals  that  were  used  for  food. 
The  quantities  of  such  remains  indicate  gatherings  of  con¬ 
siderable  numbers  at  the  rude  feasts.  Of  archaeological 
remains  in  general  it  may  be  said  that  they  always  imply 
human  association  and  a  direct  connection  of  association 
with  the  food-supply. 

The  earliest  association  of  men,  however,  must  have  been 
under  conditions  even  simpler  than  those  disclosed  by  the 
oldest  artificial  remains.  The  earliest  men  left  no  archaeo¬ 
logical  remains;  they  had  not  yet  advanced  beyond  the 
use  of  sticks  and  unchipped  stones,  —  a  fact  to  be  remem¬ 
bered  in  all  discussions  of  the  antiquity  of  man.  If  no 
paleolithic  remains  earlier  than  the  late  quaternary  period 
are  found,  it  does  not  follow  that  man  did  not  exist  until 
the  late  quaternary.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  certain  that, 
if  flints  were  then  chipped  by  men,  earlier  men  had  lived, 
who  had  not  thought  of  chipping  flints.  Therefore  the 
association  of  the  earliest  men,  like  that  of  many  savage 
hordes  to-day,  must  have  been  conditioned  by  the  abun¬ 
dance  and  accessibility  of  the  kinds  of  food  that  could  be 
obtained  by  the  hands  aided  only  by  stick  or  stone.  The 
forest  hordes  of  Brazil  subsist  on  roots,  bulbs  and  nuts, 
calabashes  and  beans,  wild  honey,  birds’  eggs,  grubs  from 
rotten  wood,  and  insects.  The  earliest  men  must  have 
lived  in  much  the  same  way,  but  perhaps  more  bountifully, 
probably  adding  to  their  resources  fish,  shell  fish,  and  easily 
captured  animals. 

1  Tylor,  “  Anthropology,”  p.  207. 

2  Isaac  Taylor,  “  Origin  of  the  Aryans,”  p.  61. 


212 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  other  physical  conditions  of  the  existence  of  primi¬ 
tive  men  could  be  certainly  known  only  if  we  knew  where, 
and  in  what  geological  period,  man  first  appeared.  Such 
evidences  as  we  have  go  to  confirm  the  opinion  of  Darwin, 
in  which  the  able  anti-Darwinian  anthropologist,  Quatre- 
fages  concurred,1  that  man  was  living  in  the  tertiary  period. 
They  do  not  confirm  Darwin’s  rather  hesitating  belief  that 
the  transition  from  brute  to  man  took  place  entirely  in 
Africa ;  much  less  do  they  confirm  Quatrefages’  belief  that 
man  originated  in  northern  Asia.2  They  indicate  rather 
that  the  transition  was  effected  through  many  cumulative 
variations,  crossings,  and  selections,  some  of  which  occurred 
in  one  region  and  some  in  another  while  the  hominine  spe¬ 
cies  was  distributed  through  a  habitat  that  extended  half¬ 
way  around  the  globe. 

The  evidences  for  Darwin’s  belief  in  an  African  origin 
of  man  were  these :  “  In  each  great  region  of  the  world 
the  living  mammals  are  closely  related  to  the  extinct  spe¬ 
cies  of  the  same  region.”  3  Man  is  related  more  nearly  to 
the  catarrhine  apes  of  the  Old  World  than  to  the  platyrrhine 
monkeys  of  the  New  W orld.  The  living  species  most  nearly 
related  to  man  are  the  gorilla  and  the  chimpanzee,  both  of 
which  live  in  Africa.  Two  or  three  anthropomorphous 
apes,  however,  including  the  Dryopithecus  of  Lartet, 
nearly  as  large  as  a  man,  existed  in  Europe  during  the 
miocene  age.  “At  the  period  and  place,  whenever  and 
wherever  it  was,  when  man  first  lost  his  hairy  covering,  he 
probably  inhabited  a  hot  country;  a  circumstance  favourable 
for  the  frugivorous  diet  on  which,  judging  from  analogy, 
he  subsisted.  We  are  far  from  knowing  how  long  ago  it 
was  when  man  first  diverged  from  the  catarrhine  stock; 
but  it  may  have  occurred  at  §in  epoch  as  remote  as  the 
eocene  period;  for  that  the  higher  apes  have  diverged 

1  Quatrefages,  “The  Human  Species,”  and  “The  Pygmies,”  especially 
p.  186.  2  “The  Pygmies,”  p.  186. 

8  Darwin,  “  Descent  of  Man,”  p.  155. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


213 


from  the  lower  apes  as  early  as  the  upper  miocene  period 
is  shown  by  the  existence  of  the  Dryopithecus.” 1 

The  scientific  objections  to  the  conclusion  that  man’s 
development  from  a  lower  type  was  accomplished  wholly 
in  Africa  are  many  and  serious. 

An  intensely  hot  and  humid  climate  might  have  helped 
man  to  shed  his  hair,  but  it  would  have  been  extremely 
unfavourable  to  the  physical  and  mental  activity  essential 
to  a  high  cerebral  development ;  while  a  genial,  sub-trop¬ 
ical,  lowland  climate,  passing  into  a  cool  and  temperate 
climate  in  mountainous  regions,  would  have  been  favourable 
in  a  high  degree. 

The  distribution  of  the  black  races  is  apparently  irrecon¬ 
cilable  with  any  theory  that  would  limit  the  primitive  home 
of  man  to  an  area  west  of  the  Indian  ocean  and  south  of 
the  Sahara.  The  dwarf  blacks  of  the  far  East,  which  are 
best  represented  by  the  Mincopis  of  the  Andaman  islands, 
are  in  all  probability  a  remnant  of  one  of  the  earliest  human 
stocks,  and  it  seems  to  have  been  demonstrated  that  the 
black  races  moved  from  southeastern  Asia  westward,  and 
not  from  Africa  eastward.2  Proof  that  in  an  earlier  geo¬ 
logical  period  an  equatorial  continent  stretched  eastward 
from  Guinea  to  New  Guinea3  would  not  remove  these 
difficulties. 

Not  less  difficult  to  reconcile  with  the  theory  that  man’s 
first  habitat  was  restricted  to  equatorial  Africa  is  the  dis¬ 
tribution  of  the  oldest  remains  of  man  and  of  the  fossil 
remains  of  the  anthropoid  apes  that  most  nearly  resembled 
him.  The  grouping  of  these  remains  has  strongly  sug¬ 
gested  the  possibility  that  the  human  race  began  in  west¬ 
ern  Europe.  It  was  the  evidence  that  man-like  apes 

1  Darwin,  “Descent  of  Man,”  p.  156. 

2  See  Tylor,  “Anthropology,”  pp.  87,  88,  and  Quatrefages,  “The  Pyg¬ 
mies,”  p.  51. 

3  The  “  Lemuria  ”  of  Haeckel ;  “  The  Natural  History  of  Creation,” 
Yol.  I.,  p.  361.  Cf.  also  Tylor,  op.  cit.,  p.  87. 


214 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


wandered  through  western  Europe  in  miocene  and  later 
periods  that  disturbed  Darwin’s  faith  in  his  own  conclu¬ 
sion  on  this  question.  The  Dryopithecus  fontani,  in  height 
about  that  of  normal  man  and  with  teeth  like  those  of  the 
Australian,  has  been  found  in  the  upper  valleys  of  the 
Garonne  in  France,  and  in  Italy.1  One  species  of  catar- 
rhine  monkey  still  dwells  on  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.  It 
was  in  Europe  that  the  first  discoveries  of  unquestionable 
remains  of  quaternary  man  were  made,  and  no  similar  dis¬ 
coveries  of  quite  equal  value  have  been  made  elsewhere. 
“  Whether  it  may  be  considered  or  not  that  Europe  was  a 
quarter  of  the  globe  inhabited  by  the  earliest  tribes  of  men, 
it  so  happens  that  remains  found  in  Europe  furnish  at 
present  the  best  proofs  of  man’s  antiquity,”  is  the  judg¬ 
ment  of  Tylor.2  Paleolithic  implements  are  found  in 
the  valleys  of  the  Ouse  and  the  Thames  in  England, 
in  those  of  the  Somme  and  the  Garonne  in  France,  and 
in  that  of  the  Tagus  in  Spain  and  Portugal.3  The 
Neanderthal  skull  was  found  in  1857  in  the  valley  of 
the  Neander  between  Dusseldorf  and  Elberfeld.4  A  sim¬ 
ilar  fragment  was  found  in  1865  at  Eguisheim,  and  some 
years  later  another  was  found  at  Briix  in  Bohemia.5 

An  attempt  to  harmonize  this  European  evidence  with 
Darwin’s  view  has  been  made  by  Dr.  Brinton,6  in  the  sug- 

1  Mortillet,  “  Le  Pr^historique,  antiquity  de  l’homme,”  p.  120,  and 
Gaudry,  “Le  dryopitheque.” 

2  Tylor,  “Anthropology,”  p.  26. 

3  De  Mortillet,  Materiaux  pour  I'histoire  de  Vhomme,  Series  I.,  Vol.  I., 
1865, p.  137 ;  John  Evans,  “Ancient  Stone  Implements,  Weapons,  and  Orna¬ 
ments  of  Great  Britain,”  pp.  595,  616  ;  Lubbock,  “  Prehistoric  Times”  ; 
Dawkins,  “  Early  Man  in  Britain,”  and  “  Cave  Hunting,”  and  fCmile  Car- 
tailhac,  “  Les  §ges  prghistoriques  de  l’Espagne  et  du  Portugal,”  pp.  10-18. 

4  For  Schaafhausen’s  description  of  this  skull  see  Archiv  fur  Anatomie , 

1858,  p.  453.  For  Broca’s  demonstration  that  it  is  normal,  and  not,  as 
Virchow  and  others  argued,  pathological,  see  Bulletins  de  la  societe 
d'anthropologie  de  Paris,  Vol.  IV.,  1863,  p.  322. 

6  Hovelacque  et  Herv€,  “  Precis  d’anthropologie,”  p.  359. 

6  Brinton,  “  Races  and  Peoples,”  pp.  86-89. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


215 


gestion  that  the  general  tenor  of  the  great  naturalist’s 
conclusion  was  merely  “  to  the  effect  that  man  was  first 
developed  in  the  warm  regions  of  the  western  or  Atlantic 
portion  of  the  Old  W orld,  somewhere  within  the  present  or 
ancient  area  of  Africa,  and  not  in  Asia.”  So  construed, 
the  Africa  of  man’s  supposed  origin  is  no  longer  the  equa¬ 
torial  Africa  south  of  the  Sahara,  but  that  vast  ancient 
peninsula  which  included  northern  Africa  and  western 
Europe.  In  other  words,  it  becomes  not  ancient  Africa, 
but  ancient  Europe. 

It  is  known  that  in  the  early  tertiary  period  Europe  and 
northern  Africa  were  united,  and  that  they  were  separated 
from  equatorial  Africa  by  shallow  seas,  where  now  are  the 
Saharan  desert,  the  eastern  half  of  the  Mediterranean  sea, 
and  the  Euphrates  valley.1  Connecting  the  Atlantic  and 
the  Indian  oceans,  the  Saharan  sea  thus  divided  the  Old 
World  into  two  continents, — a  northern,  which  included 
northwestern  Africa,  western  and  southern  Europe,  and 
southern  and  eastern  Asia,  and  a  southern,  which  included 
the  greater  part  of  Africa.  Arabia  and  Hindostan  were 
islands.  Northeastern  Europe  and  northwestern  Asia  were 
submerged  beneath  the  Northern  Ocean.  Scandinavia  was 
an  island.  Western  Europe  was  closely  connected  with 
America  by  way  of  England,  Iceland,  and  Greenland,  all 
of  which  enjoyed  a  sub-tropical  climate.  The  northern 
continent  has  long  been  known  among  geologists  by  the 
perfectly  descriptive  term  Eurasia.  Dr.  Brinton,  influenced 
perhaps  by  the  idea  that  Darwin’s  views  must  in  some  way 
be  made  to  fit  the  evidences  of  man’s  antiquity  in  Europe, 
and  influenced  even  more,  perhaps,  by  studies  of  the  his¬ 
torical  distribution  of  the  white  race,  has  proposed  to  call 
the  western  peninsula  Eurafrica.2  This  suggestion,  how- 

1  Wallace,  “The  Geographical  Distribution  of  Animals,”  Vol.  I.,  pp. 
38,  39 ;  and  E.  Suess,  “  Das  Antlitz  der  Erde,”  Bd.  I.,  pp.  379,  380  ;  and 
Huxley,  “Physiography,”  p.  308. 

2  “  Races  and  Peoples,”  p.  89. 


216 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ever,  has  the  peculiarity,  that  while  the  name  Eurafrica  hap¬ 
pily  expresses  a  present  fact  of  great  importance,  namely,  the 
physiographic,  botanical,  zoological,  and  ethnological  unity 
of  Europe  and  northern  Africa  in  modern  times,  —  since 
they  became  geographically  separated,  and  since  northern 
and  equatorial  Africa  became  geographically  united, —  it 
has  no  meaning  when  carried  back  to  tertiary  times.  In 
the  tertiary  period  there  was  a  Eurasia;  there  was  no 
Eurafrica. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  right  to  conclude  that  if  groups  of  the 
earliest  men  lived  in  Europe,  the  habitat  of  the  species 
stretched  south  and  east  through  what  is  northwestern 
Africa  now,  though  it  was  not  a  part  of  Africa  then.  This 
conclusion  from  tertiary  geography  is  supported  by  the 
coincidence  of  paleontology  with  archaeology.  The  dis¬ 
tribution  of  the  anthropoid  apes  certainly  extended  south 
and  eastward  from  western  Europe.  The  Dryopithecus, 
it  will  be  remembered,  has  been  found  in  Italy.  Paleo¬ 
lithic  relics,  so  abundant  in  western  Europe,  are  found  also 
in  the  valleys  of  the  Atlas,  and  in  Tunesia.1 

But  if,  on  the  strength  of  such  evidence,  we  trace  the 
primitive  habitat  of  man  and  his  immediate  ancestry  as 
far  east  as  the  point  where  the  Tunesia  and  the  Italy  of 
to-day  were  joined  in  the  curving  southern  coast  of  tertiary 
Europe,  we  cannot  arbitrarily  stop  there  and  assume  that 
the  race  was  developed  “  somewhere  within  the  present  or 
ancient  area  of  Africa,  and  not  in  Asia.”  The  southern 
coast  line  of  the  northern  continent  continued  unbroken 
along  the  southwestern  base  of  the  mountain  chain  that 
bounds  on  the  northeast  the  valley  of  the  Euphrates,  the 
valley  of  the  Tigris  and  the  Persian  gulf ;  thence  along  the 
Indian  ocean ;  thence  along  the  northwestern  side  of  what 
is  now  the  valley  of  the  Indus ;  thence  along  the  north- 

1  Lubbock,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute,  Vol.  X. ,  February, 
1881,  p.  318,  and  R.  Collignon,  Bulletins  de  la  societe  d  ’anthropologie  de 
Paris,  Vol.  IX.,  Series  III.,  1886,  p.  676. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


217 


eastern  side  of  what  is  now  the  valley  of  the  Ganges ;  and 
thence,  finally,  southeastward,  down  the  Malay  peninsula, 
to  Sumatra  and  Java.  At  the  eastern  extremity  of  this 
long  belt  the  anthropoid  apes  still  live  in  great  numbers. 
At  the  eastern  extremity  also  are  found  remnants  of  the 
undeveloped  human  races  that  most  nearly  resemble  the 
man-like  apes.  Paleolithic  implements  are  found  above 
Madras  in  India,  which  was  an  off-shore  island,  and  else¬ 
where  in  southern  Asia.1  These  facts  are  surely  sufficient 
to  establish  a  possibility  that  simian  man  may  have  lived 
at  the  extreme  Asian  end  also  of  a  habitat  that  extended 
northwestward  into  Europe. 

To  these  considerations  must  now  be  added  that  of  the 
discovery,  in  the  post-pliocene  deposits  of  the  island  of 
Java,  of  remains  which  Dr.  Dubois,  who  first  described 
them,  too  hastily  pronounced  to  be  those  of  the  type  that 
was  intermediate  between  the  anthropoid  apes  and  man,  and 
to  which  accordingly  he  gave  the  name  of  Pithecanthropus 
erectus,  which  Haeckel  in  1868  had  proposed  for  the  “miss¬ 
ing  link.”  These  remains,  which  possibly  are  really  those 
of  a  man  of  the  Neanderthal  type,  consist  of  the  roof  of 
a  skull,  a  femur,  and  a  molar  tooth.  The  cranial  arch  falls 
almost  halfway  between  that  of  a  chimpanzee  and  that 
of  a  well-developed  man,  while  the  cranial  capacity  is 
double  that  of  the  gorilla  and  approaches  the  physiological 
minimum  in  man.  The  thigh-bone  has  simian  characteris¬ 
tics,  but  is  in  form  and  dimensions  that  of  man.2  This  dis¬ 
covery  makes  the  hypothesis  of  an  eastern  origin  of  the 
human  species  quite  as  strong  as  that  of  a  western  origin. 

The  reasoning  so  far  employed,  however,  necessitates  a 
return  to  tertiary  Africa  and  an  admission  that  the  habitat 

1  Tylor,  “Anthropology,”  p.  30. 

2  Dubois,  “Pithecanthropus  Erectus”  ;  Marsh,  American  Journal  of 
Science,  Vol.  XLIX.,  February,  1895,  pp.  144-147  ;  The  Nation ,  January 
17,  1895,  pp.  52,  53,  and  February  7,  1895,  p.  105  ;  and  Keith,  “Pithecan¬ 
thropus  Erectus,  a  Brief  Review  of  Human  Fossil  Remains,”  Science 
Progress,  Vol.  III.,  No.  17,  July,  1895. 


218 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  the  hominine  species  may  have  extended  through  the 
northern  part  of  that  continent  also,  along  the  southern 
side  of  the  Saharan  sea.  At  times  during  the  upheaval  of 
the  Sahara  and  the  subsidence  of  the  Mediterranean  basin, 
there  undoubtedly  were  land  bridges  from  one  continent 
to  the  other.  Africa  is  the  home  of  the  highest  anthropoid 
apes  now  surviving, — the  gorilla  and  the  chimpanzee. 
Paleolithic  flints  are  found  in  the  Libyan  desert,  where 
vegetation  was  once  luxuriant 1  and  in  the  valley  of  the 
Nile.2  The  negrillos  of  the  equatorial  interior  are  appar¬ 
ently  identical  in  race  with  the  Mincopis  of  the  Andaman 
islands  and  the  negritos  of  the  Philippines. 

Little  needs  to  be  said  about  indications  that  seem  to 
point  to  South  Africa  Or  to  America  or  to  northeastern 
Asia  as  man’s  birthplace.  Paleolithic  implements  are 
found  as  far  south  as  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,3  but  there 
is  no  local  evidence  there  to  connect  paleolithic  man  with 
indigenous  anthropoid  apes.  In  America  no  tailless  catar- 
rhine  apes  have  been  found,  and  the  alleged  discoveries 
there  of  quaternary  man  have  not  been  verified.  The 
authenticity  of  Abbott’s  “  paleoliths  ”  from  the  Trenton 
gravels  and  of  Wright’s  from  the  Ohio  valley  is  disputed.4 
Few  if  any  paleolithic  remains  have  been  found  in  Scandi¬ 
navia,  Germany,  Russia,  or  Siberia.5  There  are  no  catar- 
rhine  apes  north  of  the  Alps  or  of  the  Himalayas. 

In  view  of  all  these  facts  it  would  seem  that  we  should 
look  for  the  habitat  of  man’s  immediate  ancestors  where 
a  climate  ranging  from  tropical  through  sub-tropical  to 

1  Zittel,  “  Sur  des  silex  taillfis  trouvSs  dans  le  d6sert  Libyque,”  “  Con- 
grfes  internationale  d’ anthropologie  et  d’arch^ologie,”  1874,  p.  76. 

2  Petrie,  “  Ten  Years’  Digging  in  Egypt,”  p.  77. 

3  Gooch,  “  The  Stone  Age  of  South  Africa,”  Journal  of  the  Anthropo¬ 
logical  Institute,  Yol.  X.,  May,  1881. 

4  See  the  controversy  in  Science,  Vol.  XXI.,  1893. 

5  Woldricli,  “Ueber  die  Palaeolithische  Zeit  Mittel-Europas,”  Corre- 
spondenz-Blatt  der  Deutschen  Gesellschaft  fur  Anthropologie,  XX  Jahr., 
1889,  pp.  110  sq.,  and  Archiv  fur  Anthropologie ,  Bd.  XVIII.,  1889,  p.  353. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


219 


temperate  is  known  to  have  prevailed  in  the  tertiary 
period;  where  the  higher  catarrhine  apes  are  known  to 
have  existed ;  where  the  earliest  remains  of  man  are  dis¬ 
covered  ;  and  from  which  the  lowest  races  of  men  could 
have  been  distributed  as  we  now  find  them.  A  region  or 
zone  that  fulfils  all  of  these  requirements  was  not  im¬ 
probably  the  scene  of  man’s  development  from  a  lower 
type.  The  regions  which  yield  paleolithic  remains,  but 
which  were  not  inhabited  in  miocene  and  later  times  by 
catarrhine  apes,  or  which  were  unfavourable  in  climate,  or 
which  could  not  have  been  centres  of  dispersion,  are  prob¬ 
ably  the  regions  into  which  man  first  wandered  from  his 
primitive  home.  Regions  in  which  no  paleolithic  remains 
are  found  were  probably  the  last  to  be  peopled. 

When  these  rules  are  applied  to  the  known  facts,  it 
appears  that  the  habitat  of  the  hominine  species  was  prob¬ 
ably  a  tropical  and  sub-tropical  zone  that  reached  halfway 
round  the  earth  from  Java  northwestwardly  to  England. 
More  exactly,  it  was  the  southwestern  slopes  and  shores 
of  the  vast  tertiary  continent  of  Eurasia,  the  tertiary 
island  of  Hindostan,  and  the  northern  shore  of  tertiary 
Africa.  From  this  zone  man  wandered  first  down  the 
eastern  coast  of  Africa  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  while 
by  way  of  Iceland  and  Greenland  he  pushed  on  into 
America.1  Not  until  much  later  did  he  find  his  way 
through  the  Himalayas  into  northeastern  Asia,  and  across 
the  northern  seas  into  Scandinavia. 

It  is  contrary  to  popular  ideas,  doubtless,  to  conceive  of 
the  primitive  habitat  of  the  human  species  as  an  enormously 
long  and  narrow  zone,  rather  than  as  a  circumscribed  val¬ 
ley  or  upland ;  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  argue  that  popular 
ideas  on  this  subject  have  never  had  any  basis  in  scientific 

1  Differing  as  I  do  from  Dr.  Brinton  in  regard  to  the  relations  of  early 
man  to  Asia  and  to  Africa,  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  agree  with  so  learned 
and  valued  a  friend  in  regard  to  the  peopling  of  America.  I  think  that  he 
has  disposed  of  the  theory  of  a  Mongolian  origin  of  the  red  men.  See 
“  The  American  Race.” 


220 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


research.  We  know  that  in  the  age  before  man  the  higher 
apes  were  distributed  throughout  the  length  of  the  Indo- 
European  zone  that  lias  been  described.  We  know  that 
quaternary  man  also,  in  his  turn,  was  distributed  through¬ 
out  the  same  zone.  Unless  we  are  prepared  to  believe 
that  a  brain  no  better  than  a  chimpanzee’s  was  converted 
into  a  brain  as  good  as  the  Tasmanian’s  or  the  Mincopi’s 
more  quickly  than  the  brain  of  the  savage  of  the  German 
forests  was  converted  into  the  brain  of  the  modern  Euro¬ 
pean,  we  must  admit  the  alternative  that  the  type  which 
was  intermediate  between  ape  and  man  existed  long  enough 
to  spread  likewise  throughout  the  zone  of  the  anthropoid 
apes  and  of  the  quaternary  men.  Unless  we  are  prepared 
to  believe  that  the  acquisitions  which  constitute  the  supe¬ 
riority  of  man  over  the  apes  were  made  in  ways  that  bore 
no  resemblance  to  the  ways  by  which  were  made  the  ac¬ 
quisitions  that  constitute  the  superiority  of  civilization 
over  savagery,  we  must  admit  that  no  one  small  group  of 
hominine  anthropoids  made  all  the  human  acquisitions  and 
that  no  one  place  was  a  fostering  environment  to  them  all. 
Civilization  has  been  achieved  through  innumerable  min- 
glings  of  peoples,  mixtures  of  bloods,  and  blendings  of  tra¬ 
ditions,  by  means  of  which  the  mental  and  physiological 
gains  made  by  each  group  have  been  communicated  to  a 
thousand  groups.  There  is  no  sufficient  reason  to  doubt 
that  the  gains  which  converted  the  anthropoid  into  man 
were  made,  exchanged,  and  multiplied  in  a  similar  manner. 

In  a  word,  those  gains,  so  marvellous  in  the  aggregate, 
so  insignificant  perhaps  in  itemized  detail,  were  accumu¬ 
lated  through  a  sociological  process.  Genetic  and  congre¬ 
gate  groupings  were  combined,  crossed,  broken  up,  and 
again  united,  in  endless  variations  of  size  and  composition. 
At  times  small  bands,  dwelling  long  in  secure,  more  or 
less  isolated  environments,  and  maintaining  exclusiveness 
of  association,  developed  distinctive  traits.  At  other 
times,  such  bands,  driven  together,  as  bands  of  animals  and 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


221 


of  savage  men  are  driven  together  now  by  changes  in  the 
distribution  of  food,  or  by  floods,  fire,  or  the  movements  of 
enemies,  were  massed  in  enormous  aggregations.  In  such 
disturbances  of  life  unstable  variations  quickly  perished ; 
stable,  helpful  variations  were  communicated  from  each 
centre  of  origin  to  every  horde  and  individual  of  the 
species.  In  this  conception  of  a  hominine  species  dis¬ 
tributed  throughout  an  extensive  zone,  in  which  were 
many  local  peculiarities  of  environment  and  many  centres 
of  association,  but  throughout  which  there  was  much 
migration  and  mingling,  may  perhaps  be  found  combined 
the  elements  of  essential  truth  in  the  two  great  opposing 
theories  of  monogenism  and  polygenism.1 

If  the  conclusions  hitherto  reached  in  this  work  are 
true,  it  is  necessary  to  believe  that  association,  more  ex¬ 
tended,  more  intimate,  more  varied  in  its  phases,  than  the 
association  practised  by  inferior  species,  was  the  chief  cause 
of  the  mental  and  moral  development,  and  of  the  anatomi¬ 
cal  modifications  that  transformed  a  sub-human  species  into 
man.  The  inference  that  association  was  more  intimate 
among  man’s  immediate  ancestors  than  among  other  mam¬ 
malia  is  confirmed  by  a  glance  at  the  character  of  asso¬ 
ciation  among  the  highest  animals  and  among  the  lowest 
men.  In  the  animal  world  mutual  aid  attains  its  highest 
development  among  the  social  apes  and  monkeys.  That  it 
was  somewhat  further  developed  among  the  early  cave-men 
is  evident  from  the  proofs  of  their  successful  warfare  against 
such  creatures  as  the  mastodon  and  the  cave-bear.  The 
expenditure  of  surplus  energy  in  play  is  carried  further 
among  the  quadrumana  than  among  other  mammals,  and 
the  almost  human  affection  of  monkeys  is  too  familiar  to 
need  description.  Among  the  lowest  men  play  has  be- 

1  The  doctrine  of  the  text  nevertheless  is  monogenism.  For  a  r£sum& 
of  polygenism  see  Hovelacque  et  Herv6,  “Precis  d’anthropologie,”  and 
Gumplowicz,  “Der  Rassenkampf.” 


222 


PRINCIPLES  OP  SOCIOLOGY 


come  organized  in  games  and  festivities.  If  there  was  a 
transitional  form  between  the  quadrumana  and  mankind, 
there  was  unquestionably  an  intermediate  development  of 
association  between  the  mutual  aid  and  social  pleasures  of 
the  quadrumana  and  the  cooperation  and  festivity  of  men. 

The  development  of  association  in  intimacy,  and  above 
all,  the  development  of  festivity,  converted  the  elementary 
language  of  animals  into  speech,  which  was  thenceforward 
the  foundation  of  human  progress.  Romanes  has  shown 
exactly  what  was  the  gulf  to  be  bridged.1  It  is  not  true,  as 
was  held  from  Aristotle  to  Locke,  and  as  many  persons 
still  believe,  that  the  mental  difference  between  man  and 
lower  animals  lies  in  man’s  power  of  forming  general  ideas. 
Animals,  too,  can  generalize.  They  can  even  express  and 
communicate  general  ideas  by  means  of  tones  and  gestures, 
but  they  cannot  name  their  abstract  thoughts  and  then 
combine  the  names  in  propositions. 

Ideas  may  be  mere  memories  of  percepts,  simple,  particu¬ 
lar,  and  concrete.  They  may  be  compounds  or  complexes 
of  simple  ideas  (and,  as  such,  general),  which,  however,  the 
conscious  subject  does  not  recognize  as  different  from  sim¬ 
ple  ideas,  though  they  are  very  different  in  fact ;  they  may 
be,  in  a  word,  the  unperceived  abstractions  that  Romanes 
has  named  recepts.  Finally,  they  may  be  true  concepts, 
that  is  to  say,  they  may  be  the  abstract  ideas  which  the 
conscious  subject  himself  distinguishes  and  recognizes  as 
abstract,  which  he  thinks  of  as  abstract,  and  to  which  he 
gives  names  that  enable  him  and  others  always  to  identify 
them  as  abstract.  As  examples  of  the  power  of  animals 
to  form  the  generic  ideas  that  he  calls  recepts,  Romanes 
mentions  the  discrimination  shown  by  water-fowl  that  dive 
fearlessly  from  a  great  height  into  water,  but  descend 
lightly  upon  ice  or  land ;  the  dog’s  association  of  hollow 
ground  with  water,  and  the  habit  that  bears  and  elephants 
1  Romanes,  “Mental  Evolution  in  Man.” 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


223 


have  of  making  currents  in  water  to  draw  floating  objects 
within  reach.1  These,  and  other  examples  in  which 
Romanes’  work  abounds,  show  conclusively  that  intelli¬ 
gent  animals  have  some  power  of  generalization,  but  there 
is  no  proof  that  they  ever  make  an  abstract  idea,  as  such, 
an  object  of  contemplation. 

Language,  the  system  of  signs  by  which  simple  ideas, 
recepts,  and  concepts  are  expressed,  may  consist  of  gest¬ 
ures,  grimaces,  and  tones,  of  inarticulate  utterances,  of 
articulate  sounds,  or  of  articulate  sounds,  tones,  and  gest¬ 
ures  in  combination.  The  language  of  gesture  and  tone 
is  the  language  of  recepts;  it  is  well  developed  among 
animals  and  is  the  natural  language  of  children,  mentally 
deficient  adults,  and  savages.  Articulation  is  a  secondary 
language  of  recepts  and  the  only  adequate  language  of 
concepts.  Talking  birds,  and  mammals,  use  articulate 
sounds  to  some  extent  as  a  language  of  recepts. 

The  signs  that  constitute  language,  whether  they  are 
gestures,  tones,  or  articulate  sounds,  acquire  depth  of 
meaning  as  they  are  successively  made  to  express  sensa¬ 
tions,  perceptions,  simple  ideas,  recepts,  and  concepts.  As 
graded  by  Romanes,  they  are :  first,  indicative,  when  they 
are  merely  expressive  of  a  mental  state,  as  when  the  parrot 
puts  down  its  head  to  be  scratched,  or  the  dog  begs  for  a 
»  bone  ;  second,  denotative,  when  they  mark  or  designate 
but  do  not  in  strictness  name  particular  objects,  qualities, 
or  actions,  as  when  the  parrot  learns  to  call  a  particular 
dog  J ack,  thereby  associating  a  verbal  mark  with  an  object, 
but  without  deliberately  naming  it;  third,  connotative, 
when  they  are  extended  by  association  (but  still  without 
deliberate  naming)  to  many  objects  in  a  class,  as  when 
the  parrot,  having  learned  to  call  one  dog  Jack,  afterwards 
calls  any  dog  Jack,  or  as  when  the  child,  having  learned  to 
say  star,  calls  a  candle,  a  gas  light,  or  any  shining  object, 
a  star;  fourth,  denominative,  when  a  connotative  sign  is 

1  Romanes,  op.  cit.,  pp.  51  sq. 


224 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


deliberately  bestowed  as  a  name,  the  sign  itself  having 
become  an  object  of  contemplation ;  fifth,  predicative,  when 
two  denominative  terms  are  brought  into  conceptual  appo¬ 
sition,  with  the  perfectly  conscious  intention  to  connote 
something  of  the  one  by  means  of  the  other.  The  predica¬ 
tive  use  of  articulate  signs  is  speech. 

By  means  of  these  distinctions  the  line  between  the 
lower  animals  and  man  can  be  drawn  with  some  approach 
to  exactness.  Animals  use  gesture,  grimace,  tone,  utter¬ 
ance,  and,  to  a  slight  extent,  articulation,  indicatively  and 
denotatively ;  occasionally  the  most  intelligent  animals  use 
vocal  or  other  signs  connotatively.  They  do  not  use  signs 
of  any  kind  denominatively,  because  they  have  not  ac¬ 
quired  the  mental  power  to  separate  signs  from  the  objects 
signified.  Therefore  they  cannot  use  signs  as  movable  types ; 
they  cannot  use  them  predicatively.  They  can  use  the 
logic  of  recepts,  but  not  the  logic  of  concepts.  They  have 
language,  but  not  speech.1 

How  did  the  signs  of  ideas  become  objects  of  contempla¬ 
tion,  movable  types,  names ;  so  converting  receptual  into 
conceptual  thought,  tone  and  gesture  language  into  speech  ? 
This  is  the  crucial  question  in  the  problem  of  the  origin 
of  human  faculty.  The  true  answer  to  it  has  been  sug¬ 
gested,  I  think,  by  Dr.  Donovan,2  and  less  definitely  by 
other  investigators  who  have  been  led  to  examine  the  inti¬ 
mate  association  of  speech  and  ideation  with  choral  music.3 
“I  think  it  will  be  found,”  says  Dr.  Donovan,  “that  the 
origin  of  speech  was  only  possible  through  the  aid  of  the 
psychological  machinery  which  belonged  to  musical  pleas¬ 
ure.”4  Enough  evidence  has  been  given  in  the  chapter  on 

1  Romanes,  op.  cit.,  p.  163. 

2  Donovan,  “The  Festal  Origin  of  Human  Speech,”  Mind ,  Yol.  XVI., 
No.  3,  October,  1891. 

8  Cf.,  e.g.  Posnett,  “Comparative  Literature,”  Book  II.,  Chap.  II.,  on 
Early  Choral  Song,  and  Gummere’s  presentation  of  the  communal  theory 
of  the  origin  of  the  ballad,  in  the  introduction  to  his  “Old  English  Bal¬ 
lads.”  4  Loc.  cit.,  p.  499. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


225 


The  Social  Population  to  bear  out  his  further  assertions 
that  communal  spirit  finds  its  first  and  rudest  expression 
in  bodily  play  excitement,  and  that  in  the  earliest  dis¬ 
covered  forms  this  rude  expression  has  already  become  the 
racial  habit  of  festal  celebration,  the  constant  elements  of 
which  are  bodily  play  movements  in  imitation  of  actions, 
rhythmic  beating,  some  approach  to  song,  and  the  social 
interest.  The  argument,  therefore,  is  well  founded,  that 
under  the  mental  exaltation  of  such  occasions,  rather  than 
under  any  less  stimulating  circumstances,  attention  would 
be  fixed  upon  vocal  sounds  used  as  signs,  and  the  conclusion 
is  warranted  that  it  was  under  the  stimulation  of  social 
excitement  that  signs  were  first  distinguished  in  thought 
from  the  things  signified,  and  so  conventionalized  as 
names,  the  movable  types  of  speech. 

From  the  moment  that  the  hominine  species  began  to 
practise  speech,  however  feebly,  however  awkwardly,  it 
began  to  develop  a  human  nature.  The  term  “human 
nature  ”  has  so  long  been  associated  with  economic  motives 
and  with  individualism,  that  it  has  acquired  a  perverted 
meaning.  Human  nature  is  not  the  unsocial,  egoistic 
nature.  Self-interest  is  not  the  distinctively  human  trait ; 
it  is  a  primordial  animal  trait,  which  man,  an  animal  after 
all,  still  possesses  and  must  cultivate  if  he  would  continue 
to  live.  Human  nature  is  the  preeminently  social  nature. 
Its  primary  factor  is  a  consciousness  of  kind  that  is  more 
profound,  more  inclusive,  more  discriminating,  more  varied 
in  its  colouring,  than  any  consciousness  of  kind  that  is 
found  among  the  lower  animals.  Its  secondary  factor  is  a 
differentiated  volume  of  desire,  strong,  expansive,  modifi¬ 
able,  to  a  degree  that  is  unknown  in  any  other  species. 
The  secondary  factor  is  derived  in  part  from  the  primary ; 
the  development  of  desire  is  in  part  a  result  of  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  the  consciousness  of  kind.  A  high  development 
of  both  factors  was  made  possible  by  speech. 


Q 


226 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Speech  developed  the  human  phase  of  the  consciousness 
of  kind  through  both  direct  and  indirect  reactions. 

Inasmuch  as  speech  was  a  consequence  of  association, 
its  direct  reaction  must  have  been  upon  association.  Noth¬ 
ing  ever  had  marked  off  one  species  from  all  other  species 
so  sharply  as  speech  marked  off  the  primitive  man  —  for 
such  at  length  he  was  when  he  had  begun  to  speak  —  from 
all  his  rivals  in  the  life  struggle.  Nothing  else  had  been 
so  obvious  a  ground  of  antipathies  and  sympathies.  The 
reaction  upon  the  consciousness  of  kind  must  necessarily 
have  been  immediate,  direct,  and  profound. 

Besides  the  direct  reaction  of  speech  upon  the  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind,  there  was  an  indirect  reaction,  not  less  posi¬ 
tive  in  character  and  further-reaching  in  its  consequences. 
This  was  the  nicer  discrimination  and  the  more  exact 
classification  of  all  actions,  persons,  and  things  that  became 
possible  when  the  denominative  use  of  vocal  signs  con¬ 
verted  the  logic  of  recepts  into  the  logic  of  concepts. 
With  that  conversion  conceptual  thought  and  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  began  to  act  and  react  ceaselessly  upon 
each  other. 

Speech  developed  human  desire  also  by  both  direct  and 
indirect  reactions. 

Its  direct  reaction  was  its  persistent  stimulation  of  curi¬ 
osity.  The  great  difference  between  desire  as  it  exists  in 
the  lower  animals  and  desire  as  it  exists  in  man  lies  in  a 
prodigious  development  in  man  of  those  components  of 
desire  which  originate  in  his  intellectual  activities.  All 
desire  is  made  up  of  incipient  motor  impulses  or  of  crav¬ 
ings  to  experience  the  contact  of  external  stimuli.  The 
primary  elements  of  desire  originate  in  the  fundamental 
physiological  processes  of  nutrition  and  reproduction. 
They  are  components  of  all  the  higher  desires,  but  of 
themselves  they  could  not  develop  indefinitely.  The  sec¬ 
ondary  elements  of  desire  originate  in  the  activity  of  the 
organs  of  preception  and  thought.  They  are  cravings  for 


anthropogenic  association 


227 


the  excitement  that  accompanies  the  activity  of  the  psy¬ 
chological  apparatus.  These  cravings  admit  of  indefinite 
multiplication.  They  admit  of  combination  and  recombi¬ 
nation,  with  one  another  and  with  primary  cravings,  in 
endless  variation  of  detail.  It  is  their  evolution  which 
constitutes  the  progressive  development  of  desire.  Curi¬ 
osity  is  the  marginal  development  of  intellectual  desire. 
It  is  intellectual  desire  reaching  out  beyond  its  old  limits, 
as  a  passion  to  examine  new  things  and  to  pry  into  newly 
perceived  relations.  Therefore  it  is  evident  that  the  de¬ 
velopment  of  desire  is  effected  through  the  evolution  of 
curiosity,  and  the  direct  relation  of  desire  to  speech  is 
clear;  for,  in  the  beginning,  speech  must  have  acted  upon 
curiosity  in  the  race,  as  now  it  acts  upon  curiosity  in  the 
child.  It  is  when  the  child  begins  to  apply  names  to 
things  that  his  curiosity  becomes  insatiable.  In  the  effort 
to  discover  whether  or  not  the  new  object  resembles  any¬ 
thing  that  he  has  already  classified  and  denominated,  he 
examines  it  by  every  means  known  to  him ;  by  touch,  taste, 
and  sound,  by  pulling  and  twisting,  by  throwing,  and 
pounding,  and  crushing,  until  for  the  time  he  has  com¬ 
pletely  exhausted  his  powers  of  attention.  In  like  manner, 
under  the  mental  excitement  of  practising  his  newly  ac¬ 
quired  and  wonderful  faculty  of  speech,  the  primitive  man, 
we  may  be  sure,  awakened  to  that  intense  interest  in  the 
qualities  and  relations  of  the  objects  that  he  was  beginning 
to  name,  which,  in  his  descendants,  was  to  become  the 
quenchless  thirst  for  knowledge.  When  Adam  had  named 
the  animals,  it  was  too  late  to  draw  the  line  of  investiga¬ 
tion  at  the  mystery  of  the  tree  of  life  and  of  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  good  and  evil. 

The  indirect  reaction  of  speech  upon  desire  was  through 
its  tendency  to  emphasize  inequality,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  to  develop  the  consciousness  of  kind,  on  the  other 
hand.  The  inequality  which  inevitably  exists  in  every 
group  of  animals  or  of  men,  and  which  is  due  to  the  differ- 


228 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ences  of  heredity,  nourishment,  environment,  and  oppor¬ 
tunity,  had  already  become  more  pronounced  among  the 
highest  sub-human  species  than  it  was  among  less  devel¬ 
oped  species,  as  we  know  from  the  conspicuous  part  that 
leadership  still  plays  among  the  gregarious  mammalia. 
Upon  such  inequality  speech  could  but  have  operated  irre¬ 
sistibly  to  widen  the  distance  between  the  clever  and  the 
dull,  and  to  sharpen  the  perception  of  that  distance  in 
every  mind.  The  possessor  of  powers  of  clear  conceptual 
thought  and  of  a  clever  tongue,  became  the  most  interest¬ 
ing  object  of  distinction.  At  the  same  time,  by  means  of 
nis  endowment  of  conceptual  thought,  he  could  put  his 
distinction  before  his  own  mind  as  an  object  of  thought. 
The  wish  to  outdo  his  fellows,  generated  ages  before  in 
the  contentions  and  imitations  of  animal  groups,  and 
strengthened  by  the  courtship  rivalries  born  of  sexual 
selection,  could  now  become  a  clearly  conceived  desire  for 
distinction.  In  the  breasts  of  his  fellows,  however,  the 
deepening  consciousness  of  kind  could  but  fortify  a  belief 
that  the  distinction  which  one  could  achieve  must  be  possi¬ 
ble  to  all.  The  wish  to  emulate,  born  of  habits  of  imita¬ 
tion  that  extended  back  through  countless  generations, 
thus  became  at  length  in  their  minds  a  consciously  con¬ 
ceived  desire,  as  clear  and  as  powerful  as  the  exceptional 
man’s  desire  to  excel.  In  the  birth  of  those  two  desires, 
the  desire  to  excel,  and  the  desire  to  emulate,  the  long 
course  of  human  progress  began. 

The  evolution  of  human  nature  registered  itself  in  man’s 
physical  organization ;  first  in  his  brain  and  nervous  sys¬ 
tem,  and  secondly  in  his  whole  bodily  structure. 

In  the  conceptions  of  evolution  that  became  current 
after  the  publication  of  “  The  Descent  of  Man,”  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  man  was  pictured  as  beginning  in  a  physical 
transformation,  continuing  in  a  mental  and  moral  devel¬ 
opment,  and  completing  itself  in  an  evolution  of  social 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


229 


relations.  Mr.  Fiske  converted  these  conceptions  into  a 
full-grown  theory,  in  his  familiar  doctrine  of  the  prolonga¬ 
tion  of  infancy  as  the  antecedent  of  social  organization. 
His  suggestion  was,  that  the  prolongation  of  infancy  in 
man,  by  compelling  the  family  to  hold  together  for  a  rela¬ 
tively  long  time,  prepared  the  way  for  a  growth  of  social 
feelings,  and  therefore  for  social  evolution.1  This  expla¬ 
nation  has  been  generally  accepted. 

In  view  of  the  facts  and  arguments  that  I  have  presented 
thus  far,  Mr.  Fiske’s  theory  must  be  regarded,  I  think,  as 
reversing  the  probable  order  of  cause  and  effect.  Social 
life  enlarged  and  stimulated  the  mental  life  until  it  created 
speech  and  conceptual  thought.  With  the  aid  of  speech 
and  conceptual  thought  association  continued  to  develop 
mental  activity  at  an  ever-accelerating  rate,  until  it  became 
the  supreme  activity  and  the  dominant  interest  of  man. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  man’s  complex  brain  and  nervous 
system  were  evolved.  A  slower  development  of  the  indi¬ 
vidual  and  a  longer  infancy  necessarily  resulted.  The  pro¬ 
longation  of  infancy,  in  its  turn,  must  necessarily  have 
effected  great  changes  in  anatomy  and  physiology.  A  long 
period  of  helplessness,  by  delaying  the  use  of  arms  and  legs 
in  ancestral  ways,  must  have  contributed  to  those  changes 
that  resulted  in  the  upright  position  and  the  specialized 
use  of  the  fore  limbs.  A  relatively  long  period  of  lacta¬ 
tion,  with  inability  to  use  food  requiring  strength  of  jaw, 
must  greatly  have  changed  the  facial  angle  and  the  expres¬ 
sion  of  the  countenance.2 

1  Fiske,  “Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,”  Yol.  II.,  pp.  340-344, 
360-369. 

2  Almost  simultaneously  with  the  first  publication  of  this  hypothesis  in 
the  article  on  “Sociology”  in  volume  seven  of  the  new  edition  of  John¬ 
son’s  Universal  Cyclopaedia,  Mr.  Lester  F.  Ward  published  in  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Anthropologist,  Vol.  VIII.,  No.  3,  July,  1895,  a  paper  on  the  “Rela¬ 
tion  of  Sociology  to  Anthropology,”  in  which  he  suggested  that  man’s 
erect  posture  “is  chiefly  due  to  brain  development,”  p.  244,  and  that  his 
psychological  evolution  is  to  be  explained  largely  by  association. 


230 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  reaction  of  mental  activity  upon  bodily  structure 
and  appearance  was  not  the  same  in  all  individuals  or  in 
all  groups.  Much  less  was  it  the  same  in  all  places,  under 
different  conditions  of  food  and  climate.  Therefore  the 
constant  tendency  to  vary,  which  already  had  differentiated 
the  animal  kingdom  into  genera  and  species,  continued  to 
operate  upon  the  human  species.  It  began  to  differentiate 
mankind  into  varieties  or  races.  Association,  which 
through  its  domination  of  intermixture  and  crossing, 
had  probably  been  a  controlling  factor  in  the  differ¬ 
entiation  of  animal  forms,  was  without  doubt  a  yet 
more  decisive  factor  in  human  differentiation,  when  con¬ 
ceptual  thought  had  perfected  the  perception  of  differ¬ 
ences  and  likenesses  and  had  deepened  the  consciousness 
of  kind. 

From  among  the  thousands  of  variations  that  must  have 
been  produced  by  the  combined  action  of  association,  cross¬ 
ing,  mental  activity,  and  environment,  natural  selection 
very  early  picked  out  certain  characteristics  that  were  to 
become  permanent  elements  in  race  differentia.  Among 
these  stable  physical  peculiarities  were  curly  hair,  ellip¬ 
tical  in  cross-section  and  straight  hair,  round  in  cross-sec¬ 
tion  ;  dark  skins  and  light  skins ;  broad  skulls  and  long 
skulls ;  low,  broad  faces  and  high,  narrow  faces ;  wide  eye- 
orbits  and  narrow  eye-orbits ;  narrow  noses  and  broad  flat 
noses ;  straight  jaws  and  projecting  jaws ;  broad  pelvises 
and  narrow  pelvises. 

W e  know  that  the  present  great  racial  types,  such  as  the 
African  black,  the  Asiatic  yellow,  and  the  European  white, 
date  from  an  extreme  antiquity,  but  it  is  nevertheless  cer¬ 
tain  that  before  they  were  established  the  physical  differ¬ 
entia  had  been  combined  in  every  conceivable  way.  The 
truth  of  this  assertion  becomes  instantly  apparent  when 
the  physical  peculiarities  of  existing  races  and  sub-races 
are  compared.  Thus,  for  example,  the  African  negro  is 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


231 


dolichocephalic1  (skull  long),  prognathic  (jaws  projecting), 
and  very  black.  The  Swede  also  is  dolichocephalic,  but 
orthognathic  (jaws  straight)  and  very  white.  The  Asiatic 
Mongolian  is  brachycephalic  (skull  broad),  orthognathic, 
and  yellow.  The  Dane  also  is  brachycephalic,  but  prog¬ 
nathic  and  white. 

It  may  have  happened,  however,  that  at  a  very  early 
time  several  of  the  physical  differentia  were  permanently 
combined  in  one  strong,  persistent  race ;  that  several 
others  were  combined  in  another,  quite  different,  but  not 
less  persistent  race ;  and  that  yet  others,  possibly,  were 
combined  in  a  third  race,  likewise  stamped  with  enduring 
characteristics.  After  two  or  three  such  races  had  been 
evolved,  derivative  races  might  have  sprung  from  their 
intermixture. 

The  view  in  favour  with  anthropologists  at  present  is  one 
in  which  the  African  negro,  the  Asiatic  yellow,  and  the 
Caucasian  white  figure  as  the  original  types  from  which 
Tasmanians,  Bushmen,  Papuans,  Malays,  Redskins,  Es¬ 
kimo,  Lapps,  and  Finns  were  derived.  It  was  outlined 
by  Professor  Flower  ten  years  ago2  and  it  is  the  basis  of 
Professor  Topinard’s  theory  of  three  human  species.3  A 
slight  modification  of  this  view,  in  which  the  white  race 
appears  as  possibly  a  derivative  from  the  negro  and  the 
yellow  race,  is  held  by  many  investigators  and  is  thus 
stated  by  Taylor:  “All  these  tests  agree  in  exhibiting 
two  extreme  types — the  African,  with  long  heads,  long 

1  Anthropologists  compare  skulls,  eye-orbits,  and  pelvic  forms,  by 
means  of  an  index  figure,  which  is  simply  the  ratio  of  the  transverse  diam¬ 
eter,  or  extreme  breadth,  to  the  longitudinal  diameter,  or  extreme  length. 
The  index  is  obtained  in  decimal  form,  according  to  Broca’s  method,  by 
dividing  the  breadth  by  the  length  and  multiplying  by  100.  A  dolicho¬ 
cephalic  skull  is  one  in  which  the  breadth  does  not  ,exceed  of  the 
length,  that  is,  of  which  the  index  is  not  over  75.  A  skull  with  an 
index  of  83,  or  more,  is  brachycephalic. 

2  Flower,  Address  before  the  Anthropological  Institute,  January  27, 
1885,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute,  Yol.  XIV. ,  p.  378,  May,  1885. 

3  Topinard,  “Anthropology.” 


232 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


orbits,  and  flat  hair;  and  the  Mongolian,  with  round 
heads,  round  orbits,  and  round  hair.  The  European  type 
is  intermediate  —  the  head,  the  orbit,  and  the  hair  are 
oval.”1 

Merely  as  a  characterization  of  the  more  conspicuous 
types  of  men  that  are  now  in  existence,  Canon  Taylor’s 
statement  is  true,  and  the  outlines  drawn  by  Professor 
Flower  and  Professor  Topinard  are  more  accurate  than 
the  pretentious  classifications  that  multiply  the  number  of 
underived  types.  But  if  it  is  assumed  that  the  African 
negro  and  the  Asiatic  yellow  are  original  races,  which  go 
back  in  purity  to  the  first  differentiation  of  the  human 
species,  or  even  that  they  are  older  than  all  other  existing 
races,  difficulties  of  explanation  at  once  arise  which,  upon 
careful  examination,  will  be  found  to  be  insuperable. 

In  the  first  place,  such  an  assumption  makes  it  necessary 
to  characterize  the  Mincopis  of  the  Andaman  islands,  the 
negritos  of  the  Philippine  islands,  and  the  Eskimo  of 
the  North,  as  mixed  races  derived  from  a  crossing  of  the 
negro  and  the  yellow.  The  Mincopis  and  the  negritos 
are  black  and  woolly-haired  but  brachycephalic  and 
comparatively  orthognathic.2  The  Eskimo  are  highly 
dolichocephalic,  like  the  negro,  but  they  are  white  and 
straight-haired  and  in  many  other  respects  they  conform 
to  the  Mongolian  type.  Yet  probably  all  anthropologists 
would  agree  with  Quatrefages  that  the  Mincopis  present 
a  remarkable  number  of  the  characteristics  of  a  pure  race,3 
and  would  accept  Tylor’s  statement  that  they  “  may  be  a 
remnant  of  a  very  early  human  stock,  perhaps  the  best 
representatives  of  the  primitive  negro  type,  which  has 
since  altered  in  various  points  in  its  spread  over  its  wide 
district  of  the  world.” 4 

1  “The  Origin  of  the  Aryans,”  p.  65. 

2  Cf.  Quatrefages,  “  The  Pygmies,”  pp.  77,  78. 

3  e.g.  The  hair  of  the  Mincopi  is  flatter  in  cross-section  than  that  of  the 

negro.  4  Tylor,  “Anthropology,”  pp.  88,  89. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


233 


In  the  second  place,  the  assumption  in  question  is  self- 
destructive,  because  it  could  be  true  only  if  a  primitive 
negro  and  a  primitive  yellow  race  made  migrations  through 
each  other’s  habitats  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  the 
purity  of  either  race.  I  will  state  the  proofs  of  this 
assertion. 

A  migrating  race  is  a  conquering  race.  In  all  migra¬ 
tions  the  males  of  the  conquering  race  cross  with  the 
females  of  the  conquered  race,  and  not  vice  versa.  Now 
it  seems  to  be  one  of  the  well-established  results  of  exact 
investigation  in  anthropology  that  in  a  mixed  race  the  hair, 
colour,  and  eyes  of  the  mother  race  tend  to  persist.  In 
the  course  of  his  extended  anthropometric  examinations 
of  the  North  American  Indians,  Dr.  Boas  has  found  that 
half-breeds  almost  invariably  derive  their  hair  and  eyes 
from  their  Indian  mothers.1  On  the  other  hand,  observa¬ 
tion  of  mixed  races  through  many  centuries  has  shown 
that  the  mental  characteristics  of  a  mixed  race  are  likely 
to  be  derived  from  the  conquering,  or  father  race.  It 
does  not  necessarily  follow,  that  the  cephalic  type  of  the 
father  race  is  transmitted  with  the  paternal  psychological 
type,  yet  the  association  of  thought  with  the  conformation 
of  the  skull  is  close  enough  to  create  a  probability  that 
the  cephalic  index  of  a  mixed  race  is  determined  chiefly 
by  that  of  the  dominant  father  race.  In  strong  support 
of  such  a  probability  is  the  well-established  fact  that  when¬ 
ever  the  dolichocephalic  and  the  brachycephalic  types  are 
crossed,  the  result  is  not  usually  the  production  of  a  mean 
(mesoceplialic)  type.2  In  this,  as  in  other  features,  the 
offspring  of  a  mixed  race  obey  the  tendency,  first  demon¬ 
strated  by  Mr.  Galton  in  his  studies  of  heredity,3  to  revert 
to  the  parent  types  and  not  to  form  middle  types. 

1  Boaz,  “The  Anthropology  of  the  North  American  Indian,”  in 
“Memoirs  of  the  International  Congress  of  Anthropology,”  p.  40. 

2  Cf.  Boas,  loc.  cit.,  pp.  41,  47. 

*  Galton,  “Natural  Inheritance.” 


234 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


When  these  principles  are  applied  to  the  problem  of 
the  origin  of  the  Mincopis  and  other  dwarf  blacks  at  one 
extremity  of  man’s  primitive  habitat  and  of  the  Eskimo  at 
the  other  extremity,  some  interesting  results  appear.  If 
the  Mincopis  and  the  negritos  derived  their  woolly  hair 
and  black  skins  from  a  mother  race,  and  if  that  race  was 
the  African  negro ;  if  they  derived  their  broad  heads  from 
a  father  race,  and  if  that  race  was  the  Asiatic  yellow,  then 
the  negro  was  first  on  the  ground  in  southern  Asia,  and 
was  subsequently  conquered  and  overrun  by  the  yellow 
race.  If  the  Eskimo  derived  their  straight  hair  from 
a  mother  race,  and  if  that  race  was  the  yellow ;  if  they 
derived  their  long  narrow  heads  from  a  father  race,  and 
if  that  race  was  the  negro,  then  the  yellow  race  was  first 
on  the  ground  in  northwestern  Europe,  Iceland,  or  Green¬ 
land,  and  was  subsequently  conquered  and  overrun  by  the 
negro. 

Consequently,  if  the  negro  and  the  yellow  were  primi¬ 
tive  races,  and  if  they  originated  respectively  in  equatorial 
Africa  and  in  central  Asia,  each  must  have  spread  to  the 
southeast  and  to  the  northwest ;  the  negro  first  to  the 
southeast  and  later  to  the  northwest ;  the  yellow  first  to 
the  northwest  and  later  to  the  southeast.  Doubtless  such 
a  distribution  has  been  assumed  by  many  of  the  anthro¬ 
pologists  who  have  thought  of  the  negro  and  the  yellow 
as  the  original  races  of  man,  but,  as  was  shown  earlier  in 
this  chapter,  it  is  irreconcilable  with  our  knowledge  of  the 
distribution  of  man  and  the  higher  quadrumana  in  the  ter¬ 
tiary  and  quaternary  periods. 

If  then,  to  take  the  alternative  view,  the  negro  race 
originated  in  southern  Asia  or  in  the  Indian  Archipelago, 
and  if  the  yellow  race  originated  in  northwestern  Europe, 
and  if  each  sent  forth  migrating  streams  of  population 
towards  the  other,  it  is  extremely  improbable  that  the 
streams  which  presently  were  diverted  into  central  Africa 
and  central  Asia  were  pure  races ;  especially  in  view  of 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


235 


the  fact  that  under  the  circumstances  supposed,  conflict 
and  mutual  pressure  would  be  the  probable  cause  of 
diversion. 

If,  nevertheless,  before  the  long-headed  black  men  of 
the  Southeast  found  their  way  through  to  the  Northwest, 
a  branch  of  their  migrating  column  by  any  chance  pene¬ 
trated  into  equatorial  Africa,  and  established  itself  there 
as  a  pure  race,  it  was  soon  after  pierced  through  by  a 
second  column  that  certainly  was  not  a  pure  race,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  hypothesis  now  under  examination.  The  hab¬ 
itat  of  the  true  dolichocephalic  negro  is  a  belt  that  stretches 
irregularly  across  Africa,  about  five  degrees  north  of  the 
equator,  except  where  the  southern  boundary  dips  south 
of  the  equator  at  the  eastern  end.  South  of  this  belt,  in 
the  Congo  basin,  have  lived  from  immemorial  antiquity 
the  brachycephalic  negrillos  that  are  believed  to  be  of  the 
same  race  as  the  Mincopis  and  the  negritos. 

There  is  no  way,  therefore,  to  construe  the  facts  of  early 
migration  so  as  to  save  the  hypothesis  that  the  dolichoce¬ 
phalic  negroes  are  a  pure,  original  race. 

In  the  third  place,  if  the  dolichocephalic  blacks  and  the 
brachycephalic  yellow  men  are  purer  races  than  the 
brachycephalic  blacks  and  the  dolichocephalic  Eskimo, 
the  fact  stands  in  hopeless  contradiction  to  all  the  known 
effects  of  race  admixture.  The  Eskimo  are  of  short 
stature ;  the  negrillos,  the  Mincopis,  and  the  negritos  are 
dwarfs.  None  of  these  races  is  prolific,  none  has  ever 
shown  much  capacity  for  intellectual  development,  or  for 
social  organization.  The  true  Mongolians,  though  a  short 
race  as  compared  with  European  whites  or  with  Malays, 
are  taller  than  the  Eskimo ;  they  are  prolific  and  in¬ 
tellectual.  The  true  negroes  are  tall,  strong,  prolific, 
highly  imaginative,  capable  of  intellectual  progress,  and 
socially  organized  in  well-developed  tribal  systems.  The 
remark  often  encountered  in  works  on  anthropology,  that 
the  negro  is  the  lowest  human  type,  is  untrue  of  his  men- 


236 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


tal  and  social  qualities,  and,  notwithstanding  the  large 
number  of  simian  survivals  in  his  anatomy,  it  is  not  true 
of  his  body  as  a  whole,  when  height  and  cranial  capacity 
are  taken  into  account.  Are  we  then  to  suppose  that  vig¬ 
orous,  relatively  tall,  prolific,  and  capable  races  are  purer 
and  older  than  feeble,  dwarf,  disappearing  races?  Such 
has  not  been  the  teaching  of  anthropologists  hitherto, 
and  it  would  be  strange  if  they  should  abandon  their 
belief  that  intermixture  renews  and  increases  vitality, 
just  at  the  moment  when  exact  investigation  is  confirm¬ 
ing  it.  Dr.  Boas’  measurements  and  enumerations  have 
shown  conclusively  that  half-breeds  are  always  taller 
than  pure  bloods,  that  half-breed  women  are  more  fertile 
than  women  of  pure  blood,  and  that  half-breed  children 
grow  faster  than  pure-blooded  children.1 

The  conjectural  conclusions  that  can  be  drawn  from  the 
foregoing  criticism  may  be  formulated,  I  think,  as  follows : 

First,  there  may  have  been  two  primitive  races  of  man, 
one  a  dolichocephalic,  woolly-haired,  black  race  dwelling 
at  the  southeastern  end  of  man’s  original  zone,  the  other 
a  brachycephalic,  straight-haired,  lighter  race  dwelling 
farther  to  the  west  and  north.  Each  race  may  have  in¬ 
vaded  the  other’s  territory  and  from  the  intermixture 
may  have  sprung  the  dolichocephalic,  straight-haired  light¬ 
skinned  Eskimo,  and  the  brachycephalic,  woolly-haired 
negritos,  Mincopis,  and  negrillos.  The  reasons  for  doubt¬ 
ing  that  the  Eskimo  and  the  Mincopis  were  themselves  the 
primitive  races,  and  for  accounting  for  them  by  a  blend¬ 
ing  of  earlier  types,  are,  first,  the  fact  that  the  dolichoceph¬ 
alic  blacks  of  Australia  and  Tasmania  may  possibly  be 
regarded  as  descended  (though  not  without  intermixture) 
from  an  indigenous  dolichocephalic  race,  and  second,  that 
the  brachycephalic  dwarf  whites  of  Lapland  and  Finland 
may  probably  be  regarded  as  descendants  of  a  primitive 

1  Boas,  loc.  cit.,  p.  42. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


237 


brachycephalic  race  indigenous  in  northwestern  Europe. 
It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  the  brachycephalic  dwarf 
whites  (Lapps  and  Finns),  the  dolichocephalic  dwarf  whites 
(Eskimo),  and  the  brachycephalic  dwarf  blacks  (negri- 
tos,  Mincopis,  and  negrillos)  are  the  oldest  races  now  living. 

Second,  after  the  dwarf  blacks  had  penetrated  into  equa¬ 
torial  Africa,  they  may  have  been  overrun  by  the  dolicho¬ 
cephalic  race  of  Europe,  when  it  was  pushed  south  through 
Spain  and  Morocco  by  the  on-moving  ice  of  the  glacial  age. 
The  admixture  may  have  created  the  dolichocephalic, 
woolly-haired  negro  race.  This  supposition  has  at  least 
the  merit  of  being  infinitely  more  probable  than  the  counter¬ 
supposition  that  the  negro  race  overran  Europe,  and  be¬ 
queathed  to  the  white  man  of  to-day  his  sub-dolichocephalic 
index.  It  also  harmonizes  perfectly  with  the  fact  that  the 
long-headed  races  of  Africa  dwell  north  of  the  brachy¬ 
cephalic  and  sub-brachycephalic  races. 

Third,  a  branch  of  the  primitive  brachycephalic  white 
race  pushing  northeastward  and  eastward  may  have  escaped 
intermixture  for  a  time  and  may  have  made  its  way  through 
Lapland  and  Finland,  where  dark  and  light  remnants  of  it 
still  live,  thence  through  Russia,  and,  at  length,  into  Asia, 
where,  mingling  with  a  dark  population  already  greatly 
mixed  and  probably  straight-haired  that  had  pushed  up 
from  the  southeast  and  southwest,  it  gave  rise  to  the  great 
Mongolian  or  yellow  races. 

Fourth,  there  may  have  been  a  primitive  race  of  blue¬ 
eyed,  red  or  yellow  haired  blondes,  as  Professor  Topinard 
and  others  believe,  which  was  early  differentiated  from 
other  human  stocks,  in  some  region  remote  from  the  great 
highways  of  migration,  —  north  of  the  Caucasus,  perhaps, 
as  tradition  affirms,  or  in  north  central  Europe,  or  even,  as 
Dr.  Brinton  inclines  to  believe,  in  the  fastnesses  of  the 
Atlas  region  of  northwestern  Africa.1  If  there  was  not 
such  a  primitive  race,  and  if  the  white  race  is  a  product  of 
1  “Races  and  Peoples,”  pp.  112,  117-120. 


238 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


an  intermixture  of  the  primitive  Finnic  race  with  a  dark 
race  of  the  South,  it  is  probable  that  its  origin  was  com¬ 
paratively  late,  when  a  reflex  wave  of  migration  swept  back 
from  the  northwest  towards  the  south  and  east.  In  this 
case  one  branch,  bearing  to  the  south,  became  the  melano- 
chroic,  or  dark  white  type,  while  another  branch,  keeping 
farther  to  the  north,  became  the  leuchrochroic  and  xantho- 
chroic,  or  pale  white  and  ruddy  white  types. 

In  any  case,  the  white  race  of  to-day  is  composite  to  the 
last  degree,  including,  as  it  does,  among  its  typical  features, 
the  broad  head  and  the  long  head,  the  round  eye-orbit  and 
the  narrow  eye-orbit,  the  black  iris  and  the  blue  iris,  straight 
black  hair,  stiff  curly  black  hair,  wavy  brown  hair,  curly 
red  hair  and  straight  red  hair,  straight  light  hair  and  wavy 
light  hair. 

All  these  conclusions  however,  let  me  earnestly  warn 
the  reader,  are  merely  hypothetical ;  they  are  not  at  present 
the  verified  truths  of  science.  Yet,  as  hypotheses,  I  print 
them ;  partly  as  suggestions  to  anthropological  investiga¬ 
tors,  because  I  believe  that  they  are  a  better  explanation  of 
the  known  facts  than  are  the  theories  that  are  currently 
accepted  and  that  are  often  taught  dogmatically  in  the 
schools  ;  partly  because  they  serve  well  to  show  how  amaz¬ 
ingly  complicated  were  the  migrations  and  intermixtures, 
the  associations  and  the  dissociations,  which  produced  the 
racial  basis  of  modern  social  organization,  —  how  enormous, 
in  short,  was  the  part  that  the  social  factor  must  have 
played  in  human  evolution  from  the  earliest  days ;  and 
partly,  finally,  because  I  believe  that  further  research  will 
demonstrate  that  the  negro  and  the  yellow  races,  which 
evidently  are  destined  to  play  an  important  r81e  in  future 
developments  of  the  world’s  population,  are  not  primitive 
races,  too  simple  in  their  biological  composition  to  be  capa¬ 
ble  of  further  evolution,  but  are  already  highly  composite 
races  capable  of  progress. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


239 


The  differentiation  of  races  sharpened  the  distinctions 
that  enter  into  the  consciousness  of  kind,  which  became,  in 
consequence,  increasingly  definite  and  clear.  The  segre¬ 
gation  of  races  reacted  upon  the  intensity  of  association 
within  each  race.  The  speech  of  each  race  consequently 
became  more  flexible  and  more  precise.  The  individuals, 
also,  of  each  race  became  increasingly  sensitive  to  com¬ 
municated  modes  of  thought  and  feeling  and  therefore 
better  able  to  share  a  common  thought  or  a  common  feeling. 
The  intermingling  of  races  communicated  to  each  local 
aggregation  of  men  important  acquisitions  of  knowledge 
that  had  been  made  by  different  races  in  different  parts  of 
the  world,  —  acquisitions  already  enriched  by  ideas  made 
possible  by  speech.  Through  the  combination  of  all  these 
results  was  evolved  that  highest  product  of  anthropo¬ 
genic  association,  the  social  mind.  In  the  evolution  of  a 
common  consciousness  and  of  a  common  stock  of  ideas, 
the  results  of  past  association  were  now  gathered  up  and 
conserved. 

Among  the  common  ideas  that  make  up  the  content  of 
the  social  mind,  economic  ideas  must  be  regarded  as  fun¬ 
damental.  Their  origin  was  in  individual  experiences  of 
initial  utility,  which,  as  was  admitted  in  an  earlier  chap¬ 
ter,1  were  antecedent  to  association.  They  were  developed, 
however,  only  under  the  fostering  of  association.  Through 
the  evolution  of  curiosity  in  the  manner  that  has  been 
described,  and  under  the  spur  of  increasing  desire,  primi¬ 
tive  human  ideas  of  utility  had  doubtless  been  developed 
to  a  relatively  high  degree,  if  comparison  is  made  with  the 
ideas  of  utility  of  which  the  most  intelligent  animals  are 
capable.  The  relation  between  satisfaction  and  its  exter¬ 
nal  causes  had  become  a  subject  of  intellectual  interest , 
the  consciousness  of  satisfaction  had  become  a  true  sub¬ 
jective  utility.2  This  relation  had  been  investigated,  too, 

1  Ante,  p.  41.  2  See  definition,  p.  42. 


240 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


in  a  relatively  large  number  of  instances.  Many  kinds  of 
food  had  been  tried,  many  devices  for  shelter  had  been 
learned,  the  suitability  of  many  articles  as  means  of  adorn¬ 
ment,  and  possibly  even  the  fitness  of  various  things  to 
serve  as  an  artificial  protection  to  the  body,  had  been  dis¬ 
covered.  Perhaps  the  difference  between  initial  and  mar¬ 
ginal  utility  had  been  perceived.  Probably  the  relation 
between  utility  and  effort  —  subjective  cost  —  had  taken 
shape  in  conceptual  thought,  and,  if  so,  subjective  value 
also  may  have  emerged  in  consciousness  as  a  crude  estima¬ 
tion  of  utilities  in  prospect.  All  such  notions,  relations,  dis¬ 
coveries,  when  they  were  communicated  and  talked  over, 
became  permanent  economic  ideas  in  the  social  mind. 

Only  as  they  were  so  communicated  and  discussed  until 
they  became  a  common  possession,  were  the  primitive 
ideas  of  utility  and  value  combined  in  a  primitive  concep¬ 
tion  of  wealth.  For  desirable  things  are  not  wealth  until 
they  are  appreciated  by  the  community  as  well  as  by  the 
individuals  that  first  discover  their  desirable  qualities. 
Economists  imperfectly  express  this  truth  when  they  say 
that  wealth  consists  of  the  useful  things  that  can  be  ex¬ 
changed,  or  that  have  value  in  exchange.  Actual  exchange 
is  not  necessary  to  convert  the  material  means  of  satisfac¬ 
tion  into  wealth,  but  a  general,  or  social,  esteem  is  neces¬ 
sary.  Such  an  esteem  arose  when  men  began  consciously 
to  compare  their  wants,  their  efforts,  and  their  satisfactions, 
and  when,  by  that  common  consent  which  is  a  product  as 
much  of  emulation  as  of  discussion,  they  began  to  arrange 
the  means  of  satisfaction  in  a  scale  of  desirableness.  In 
those  days  of  sharp  alternations  of  feasting  and  starving, 
mere  quantity  of  anything  consumable  impressed  the  im¬ 
agination,  and  crude  abundance  was  put  first  in  the  social 
esteem.  To  discover  or  to  conquer  abundance  was  to  win 
distinction.  Next  in  order  were  put  the  things  that  quali¬ 
tatively  or  quantitatively  served  as  marks  of  distinction, 
such  as  trophies,  ornaments,  and  implements,  and,  finally 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


241 


the  things  that  appealed  to  new  desires.  The  primitive 
idea  of  wealth,  in  fine,  was  not  essentially  different  from 
the  idea  of  wealth  to-day.  It  was  the  notion  of  a  socially 
esteemed  abundance  of  things  necessary  for  life,  for  social 
distinction,  for  emulation,  and  for  the  imitation  of  novelty. 
It  expanded  with  the  growth  of  inequality,  which  intensi¬ 
fied  the  desires  to  excel  and  to  emulate.  Mr.  Mallock  is 
entirely  right  in  his  contention  that  without  inequality 
there  never  would  have  been  wealth  in  other  things  than 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  and  that  probably  there  never 
would  have  been  a  real  abundance  of  those.1 

The  remaining  economic  ideas  of  the  primitive  social 
mind  were  those  that  constituted  the  useful  or  productive 
arts.  Discovery  and  invention  were  then,  as  they  are  now, 
the  prime  factors  in  economic  production,  but  the  discoveries 
made  by  primitive  man  were  few  and  simple  and  his  inven¬ 
tions  did  not  get  beyond  the  most  elementary  tools  and 
processes.  Professor  Tylor  remarks  that  it  is  not  quite 
true  that  man  is  distinguished  from  animals  by  his  use  of 
tools,  since  some  apes,  and  perhaps  other  animals,  use  the 
tools  that  are  ready  to  hand  in  the  form  of  clubs  and  stones, 
but  that  man  alone  improves  these  natural  tools,  and  may 
therefore  be  called  the  tool-making  animal.2  But  all  of 
these  simple  discoveries,  all  of  these  simple  inventions  of 
tools  and  processes,  were  communicated,  discussed,  and 
imitated.  They  became  a  common  possession ;  that  was 
the  important,  the  essential  thing.  All  arts,  we  must  re¬ 
member,  are  phases  of  the  social  mind.  We  are  so  much 
in  the  habit  of  thinking  of  them  in  terms  of  art  products 
that  we  forget  that  the  arts  themselves  are  groups  of  ideas 
and  acquisitions  of  skill  that  exist  only  in  the  minds,  mus¬ 
cles,  and  nerves  of  living  men.  The  continuity  of  an  art 

1  Mallock,  “  Social  Equality.” 

2  Tylor,  “  Anthropology  ”  p.  183.  Eor  a  well- supported  argument  that 
most  of  the  primitive  industrial  inventions  were  made  by  women,  see 
Mason,  “  Woman’s  Share  in  Primitive  Culture.” 


242 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


depends  on  its  being  transmitted  from  mind  to  mind,  and 
from  hand  to  hand. 

Habits  of  toleration  had  long  been  established  when  they 
became  subjects  of  conceptual  thought.  Their  origin, 
as  was  explained  in  the  chapter  on  The  Social  Population, 
was  in  those  conflicts  that  resulted  in  demonstrating  a 
substantial  equilibrium  of  strength.  Toleration  had  begun 
in  the  lowest  animal  groups,  and  had  been  developed 
through  countless  experiences  of  aggression  and  revenge, 
by  which  the  equilibrium  of  strength  was  tested.  It  had 
been  further  developed  by  cooperation,  by  mutual  pleasure 
and  sympathy,  and  by  the  discovery  that  the  group  might 
at  any  moment  need  the  active  services  of  all  its  members 
in  defence,  or  in  some  other  form  of  mutual  aid.  In  a 
sense,  perhaps,  the  habits  of  toleration  were  already  rules 
when  speech  was  acquired,  but  it  is  better  to  say  that  they 
became  rules  when  they  were  named,  and  were  conceptu¬ 
ally  thought  about  and  discussed. 

From  the  first,  the  ideas  of  toleration  in  the  primitive 
social  mind  must  have  assorted  themselves  into  those  two 
classes  that  are  still  fundamental  categories  of  legal 
thought ;  namely,  notions  of  immunity  of  life,  and  notions 
of  immunity  of  possession. 

The  conception  of  immunity  of  life  was  limited  at  first 
by  an  intense  and  narrow  consciousness  of  kind.  The 
primitive  man  could  feel  affection  for  an  associate,  could 
take  pleasure  in  his  companionship,  could  estimate  the 
probable  danger  of  offending  him,  and  could  appreciate 
the  importance  of  his  life  to  the  band.  For  the  stranger 
the  primitive  man  could  have  no  such  feelings,  and  no 
sacredness  could  attach  to  the  stranger’s  life.  The  man 
who  slew  the  fellow-member  of  his  band  could  count  on 
the  execration  of  all  his  associates.  The  man  who  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  a  stranger  could  count  on  the  aid  of  all 
his  associates  in  pursuing  and  avenging. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


243 


The  idea  of  possession,  which  originated  in  the  instinc¬ 
tive  assertion  of  ownership  exhibited  by  animals,  became 
in  the  primitive  social  mind  the  notion  of  property,  or  of 
property  right,  which  is  a  product  of  two  factors ;  namely, 
the  assertion  of  possession  on  the  part  of  the  individual 
possessing,  and  the  tolerance  of  his  claim,  or  the  acquies¬ 
cence  in  it,  on  the  part  of  the  community.  In  primitive 
society  property  extended  to  simple  personal  belongings, 
to  articles  of  adornment,  to  trophies  of  the  chase  or  of 
war,  and  to  tools  and  weapons.  Probably  gift-giving  in 
recognition  of  bravery  or  capacity  was  an  important  factor 
in  the  evolution  of  the  conception  of  property.  Nothing 
could  more  clearly  have  been  property  than  articles  given 
by  the  community  to  its  favourite  leaders. 

The  germs  of  political  ideas  in  the  primitive  social  mind 
existed  in  notions  of  a  common  territory,  of  a  common 
interest  and  defence,  of  a  common  leadership  and  alle¬ 
giance,  and  of  a  common  culture. 

Nothing  could  be  more  untrue  to  fact  than  a  division  of 
ancient  society  from  modern  on  the  assumption  that  ancient 
society  was  based  on  the  idea  of  kinship  but  not  on  that  of 
territory,  and  that  modern  society  is  based  on  the  idea  of 
territory  but  not  on  that  of  kinship.  Morgan,  in  asserting 
that  mankind  has  developed  but  two  plans  of  government, 
• —  which  is  not  true  ;  there  have  been  three,  —  was  careful 
to  say  that  in  the  one  “  the  government  dealt  with  per¬ 
sons  through  their  relations  to  a  gens  and  tribe,”  and  that 
in  the  other  “  the  government  dealt  with  persons  through 
their  relations  to  territory.” 1  Literally  construed,  these 
two  statements  are  accurate.  At  one  time  the  mere  ad¬ 
ministrative  basis  of  government  was  gentile  relationship ; 
the  mere  administrative  basis  of  government  now  is  terri¬ 
tory.  But  at  all  times  human  society  itself,  as  distin¬ 
guished  from  forms  of  government,  has  been  unified  by 

1  “Ancient  Society,”  p.  62. 


244 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


the  idea  of  territory  as  well  as  by  the  idea  of  kinship. 
The  lowest  savage  hordes  have  notions  of  rudely  bounded 
“  lands  ”  which  they  may  rightfully  claim  and  defend, 1 
and  it  is  probable  that  these  notions  had  their  origin  far 
back  in  prehistoric  times. 

The  supreme  common  interests  of  primitive  men  were 
those  of  mutual  aggression  and  mutual  defence,  and  we 
may  be  sure  that  the  habits  of  mutual  aid  in  attack  and 
defence  which  had  been  acquired  in  the  animal  stages  of 
evolution,  were  well  scrutinized  by  the  primitive  social 
mind ;  that  they  were  denominated  and  discussed ;  and 
that  the  resulting  notions  of  the  conduct  that  would  re¬ 
ceive  public  approval  in  any  given  case,  were  soon  com¬ 
bined  into  conceptions  of  loyalty  and  of  solidarity. 

Frequently  leadership  must  have  played  an  important 
part  in  critical  situations,  and  have  riveted  the  primitive 
man’s  attention  upon  differences  of  personal  power  and 
upon  the  relations  of  inferior  to  superior.  He  was  forced 
to  contemplate  those  simple  forms  of  admiration  and  cere¬ 
mony  which  the  human  race  had  inherited  from  an  animal 
existence.  He  had  not  lost  the  uncritical  wonder  that 
lower  creatures  had  always  felt  at  unusual  displays  of 
power  or  brilliancy.  Like  animals,  he  still  expressed  his 
deference  to  those  whom  he  admired  or  feared  by  attitudes 
of  supplication,  by  acts  of  service,  and  by  a  surrender  of 
possessions.  In  return  for  deference,  he  looked,  as  animals 
always  had  looked,  for  various  benefits  from  the  superior. 
In  reflecting  on  these  things,  however,  the  primitive  man 
did  not  at  first  analyze  himself ;  he  did  not  analyze  his 
fellow-men.  The  child  for  a  time  thinks  of  himself  as  a 
concrete  unity.  The  primitive  man  for  a  time  thought  of 
himself  in  the  same  way.  Any  difference  between  himself 
and  another,  therefore,  was  chiefly  a  difference  of  magni¬ 
tude,  of  power.  One  was  inferior  and  must  admire,  obey, 
follow,  and  ask  favours ;  the  other  was  superior  and  could 
1  Cf.  Lumholtz,  “Among  Cannibals,”  p.  176. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


245 


command  and  guide,  demand  reverence  and  service,  and 
bestow  benefits. 

These  notions,  converted  into  common  possessions  of  the 
social  mind,  became  ideas  of  a  common  property  in  the 
commanding  personalities  of  the  community ;  ideas  of 
benefit  and  obligation  in  the  relations  of  leader  and  fol¬ 
lower  ;  ideas  of  common  forms  of  ceremony.  These  ideas 
bound  men  together  when  they  thought  of  themselves  as 
inferior  and  superior,  as  ideas  of  their  common  interest  in 
defence  and  aggression  bound  them  together  when  they 
thought  of  themselves  as  equal  allies.  In  the  crude  no¬ 
tions  of  benefit  and  obligation  were  intellectual  germs  that 
were  later  to  develop  into  a  feudal  plan  of  government, — 
the  plan  that  Morgan  overlooked,  —  which  would  have  its 
administrative  basis  in  personal  allegiance  to  a  chief  or 
lord.  From  the  ceremonial  ideas  were  to  be  evolved  those 
differentiated  forms  of  command  and  obedience,  of  bounty 
and  tribute,  of  exaction  and  service,  of  grace  and  homage, 
which  are  the  substance  of  government  of  every  sort. 1 

In  the  stock  of  common  ideas  on  all  the  relations  and 
interests  of  life,  in  the  common  forms  of  ceremonial,  and 
in  the  speech  which  transmitted  both  ideas  and  ceremonial, 
the  community  had  the  elements  of  a  yimmon  culture . 
When  the  social  mind  perceived  these  elements  and 
reflected  upon  them,  it  thereby  converted  them  into  a  cult¬ 
ure  in  fact,  a  supreme  interest  to  be  diligently  cherished. 
In  this  conception  of  a  common  culture  appeared  the 
germ  of  one  of  the  most  important  of  all  political  ideas. 

A  common  culture  depended  on  autogeny  and  its  central 
fact  of  genetic  aggregation.  The  conception  of  a  common 
culture  had  as  its  chief  element  the  idea  of  a  community 
of  speech,  which,  as  a  rule,  could  be  identified  with  kinship. 
Therefore  the  conception  of  a  common  culture  must  have 
been  closely  associated  with  the  conception  of  kinship. 

1  Spencer,  “  Ceremonial  Institutions,”  “The  Principles  of  Sociology,” 
Vol.  II.,  Part  I. 


246 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


These  two  conceptions  were  the  intellectual  germs  from 
which  that  plan  of  government  which  made  kinship  its 
administrative  basis  was  subsequently  developed. 

All  of  these  political  ideas  of  the  primitive  social  mind 
—  ideas,  namely,  of  a  common  territory;  of  solidarity 
and  loyalty ;  of  leadership  and  allegiance  ;  of  kinship  and 
a  common  culture  —  have  been  factors  in  every  form  of 
political  organization  that  has  been  tried;  but  the  idea 
of  kinship  was  the  first,  the  idea  of  allegiance  was  the 
second,  and  the  idea  of  territory  was  the  last,  to  be  em¬ 
phasized  for  administrative  purposes. 


Thus  far  the  social  mind  was  reflecting  upon  ideas  that 
man  shared  with  other  species.  They  all  pertained  to 
those  fundamental  relations  which  a  conscious  organism 
holds  to  the  tangible  world  of  palpable  creatures  and 
material  things.  OL'YWYrurfk- 

But  in  the  very  process  of  reflecting  upon  its  own  ideas, 
the  mind  of  man  was  beginning  to  look  in  upon  itself  and 
to  apprehend  phenomena  of  which  the  animal  mind  had 
never  been  conscious.  It  was  beginning  to  have  ideas  of 
ideas ;  ideas  of  volition,  life,  and  cause ;  ideas  of  the 
sources  of  those^manifestations  of  power  that  had  awakened 
wonder  and  fear.  It  was  beginning  to  perceive  an  intan¬ 
gible  world. 

Now  for  the  first  time  man  analyzed  himself.  Ordi¬ 
narily  thought  and  body  seemed  to  be  inseparable.  Ordi¬ 
narily  the  bodies  of  other  men  seemed  like  his  own  ;  they 
acted  like  his  own  and  responded  so  perfectly  to  his  spoken 
or  acted  thought  that  in  them  also  body  and  thought 
seemed  to  be  a  concrete  whole.  But  he  had  seen  them 
when  they  responded  no  more.  It  was  as  if  something 
real,  though  impalpable  and  evasive,  had  departed  with  the 
breath.  Were  there  then,  after  all,  in  every  man  two 
selves?  It  seemed  almost  as  if  there  might  be,  and  the 
longer  the  primitive  man  thought  about  this  question  and 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


247 


talked  about  it  with  his  comrades,  the  more  probable  to 
his  mind  did  the  affirmative  answer  become.  His  own 
experiences  seemed  to  furnish  the  final  proof.  Had  he 
not  often  in  imaginative  moods  witnessed  things  not  visible 
to  the  bodily  eye  ?  Had  he  not  repeatedly  in  dreams 
wandered  far  into  the  forest,  while  his  body  lay  motionless 
in  sleep  ? 

So  in  the  individual  and  in  the  social  mind  was  born  at 
last  the  idea  of  the  self,  or  personality,  as  a  conscious  life, 
soul,  or  spirit,  dwelling  in  the  body  but  distinct  and  sepa¬ 
rable  from  it. 

From  this  conception  it  followed  by  primitive  reasoning 
that  whatever  manifested  life  was  personal  and  was  actu¬ 
ated  by  motives  like  human  motives.  Conscious  will  was 
in  everything  that  moved,  or  changed,  and  the  will  was 
prompted,  like  man’s  will,  by  appetite,  curiosity,  desire, 
friendliness,  or  malevolence.  The  world  was  a  bewilder- 
mg  aggregation  of  conscious  powers.  Some  of  them  were 
contemptible  and  man  could  abuse  or  use  them  ;  but  others 
were  terrible,  swift,  subtle,  or  mysterious  in  their  action 
and  filled  the  wondering  human  soul  with  mingled  admira¬ 
tion  and  dread.  The  serpent  that  could  run  without  legs, 
the  turtle  that  could  breathe  air  or  live  in  water,  the  hawk 
that  could  see  its  prey  from  the  sky,  the  plant  that  could 
heal  or  poison,  the  tornado,  the  lightning,  and  the  sun  — 
these  were  beings  to  be  regarded  with  the  awe,  and  to  be 
propitiated  with  the  ceremonial  respect  accorded  to  all- 
powerful  men.  ,  a  .  /! 

iJUy 


There  was  one  class  of  phenomena  in  which  a  living  self, 
ordinarily  united  with  the  body  though  separable  from  it, 
seemed  to  the  primitive  man  to  be  already  partly  separated 
or  in  the  act  of  separation.  Walking  in  the  sunlight,  he 
always  saw  a  shadow  that  moved  as  he  moved  or  was 
motionless  when  he  stood  still,  but  which  never  completely 
detached  itself  from  him.  What  could  this  be  but  a  con- 


248 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


scious  self,  belonging  to  the  bodily  self  and  usually  merged 
in  it,  but  capable  of  going  away,  to  live  alone  ?  Looking 
in  the  pool,  he  saw  the  shadow  self  more  distinctly,  and  it 
behaved  as  before.  When  he  called  aloud  to  his  comrades, 
his  voice  came  back  from  the  mountain.  His  double  then 
could  be  far  away  and  invisible,  and  yet  speak  and  preserve 
the  identity  of  his  proper  tone. 

Here  were  data  for  curious  inferences.  The  shadow 
and  the  echo  were  parts  of  one’s  intangible  self.  Words, 
then,  and  names  must  be  a  part  of  the  spiritual  self,  and 
to  know  a  man’s  name  must  be  to  have  a  part  of  his  essen¬ 
tial  personality  in  one’s  possession  and  therefore  to  have  a 
mysterious  control  over  him.  This  belief  is  found  among 
savages  in  every  quarter  of  the  world  to-day.1  Possibly 
before  it  arose  some  one  had  traced  with  a  stick  the  out¬ 
lines  of  a  shadow  on  the  sand,2  and  rude  drawings  may 
have  been  used  as  written  names.  Whether  so  or  not, 
the  thought  would  arise  that  to  have  an  image  of  any 
object  conceived  as  personal,  would  be  to  possess  an  es¬ 
sential  part  of  that  object  and  to  have  its  name.  Words 
and  images  then  were  charms,  in  themselves,  and  medi¬ 
ately,  as  names.  Through  words  and  images  one  could 
come  into  subtle  relations  with  the  very  spirit  of  another, 
could  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  spiritual  life  external  to  his 
own.  The  aesthetic  sense  was  born.  Here  were  the  vital 
origins  of  writing  and  literature,  and  of  all  the  plastic  arts 


of  expression. 


Believing  in  a  spirit  separable  from  the  body,  the  primi¬ 
tive  man  could  no  longer  think  of  death  as  the  end  of 
conscious  life.  Death  was  but  a  prolonged  and  perhaps 
in  some  cases  a  permanent  departure  of  the  soul  from  its 
material  home. 

1  Tylor,  “Researches  into  the  Early  History  of  Mankind,”  Chap.  VI., 
especially  pp.  119-129. 

2  This  is  the  ingenious  explanation  of  the  origin  of  drawing  made  by 
Miss  Simcox  ;  “  Primitive  Civilizations,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  4. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


249 


Many  strange  occurrences  convinced  the  beholder  that 
spirits  sometimes  came  back  to  bodies  from  which  appar¬ 
ently  they  had  gone  forever,  and  that  sometimes  spirits 
went  from  one  body  to  another.  In  coma  the  body  might 
lie  for  days  in  a  state  indistinguishable  from  death.  In 
epilepsy  and  in  insanity  the  proper  spirit  of  the  victim  was 
evidently  not  in  him,  or  it  was  enthralled  by  a  strange 
and  probably  malevolent  spirit.  To  this  day  the  ignorant 
believe  that  an  insane  person  is  “possessed,”  and  in 
our  common  forms  of  speech  we  have  such  expressions 
as  “he  is  not  in  his  right  mind”  and  “he  is  out  of  his 
head.” 

The  belief  in  ghosts  or  surviving  spirits  of  the  dead  that 
could  sometimes  come  back  to  their  proper  bodies,  but  that 
oftener  wandered  through  the  air,  entering  now  into  one 
person  or  object  and  now  into  another,  became  a  rooted 
conviction  of  the  entire  human  race.  The  world  became 
peopled  with  ghosts,  and  the  spirits  of  all  human  persons, 
animals,  plants,  and  things  became  interchangeable  with 
ghosts,  and  with  one  another.  It  was  necessary  for  man 
to  propitiate  not  only  the  living,  both  human  and  non¬ 
human,  who  were  powerful,  but  also  the  ghosts  of  the 
powerful.  It  was  necessary  to  propitiate  not  only  ghosts, 
but  also  the  living;  for  ghosts  might  be  within  them. 
There  was  as  yet,  therefore,  no  differentiation  of  ancestral 
ghosts  from  other  spirits.  All  beings  and  things  were 
bound  together  by  a  commingling  of  spirits  that  inspired 
astonishment  and  fear.1 

All  spirits,  nevertheless,  fell  into  two  great  classes,  —  the 
friendly  and  the  unfriendly,  the  good  and  the  evil. 

1 1  believe  that  all  interpretations  of  religion  which  start  from  the 
assumption  that  fetichism,  animal  worship,  nature  worship,  or  ancestor 
worship  was  a  primitive  form  from  which  all  other  forms  were  derived, 
are  destined  to  he  overthrown.  The  earliest  beliefs  were  a  jumble  of  ideas, 
and  it  was  long  before  the  elements  of  the  different  kinds  of  religion  were 
discriminated.  The  latest  studies  of  Aryan  religions  among  others  confirm 
this  view.  See  Hopkins,  “  The  Religions  of  India,”  p.  147. 

\ Jjl 


250 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


By  a  course  of  reasoning  from  the  interchangeability  of 
spirits  and  from  the  identification  of  names  and  images 
with  spiritual  personalities,  the  primitive  social  mind  ar¬ 
rived  at  extremely  important  beliefs  about  the  relation  of 
the  community  and  of  individuals  to  particular  classes  of 
objects.  Observations  of  children  and  savages  indicate 
that  primitive  man  closely  imitated  the  lower  animals  both 
in  his  pleasures  and  in  his  more  serious  pursuits,  and  that, 
in  naming  persons  and  things  and  in  reasoning  about  them, 
he  was  guided  by  fanciful  analogies,  or  by  odd,  accidental, 
or  trivial  associations.  It  is  the  universal  custom  of  sav¬ 
ages  to  name  individuals  from  animals  and  other  natural 
objects,  as  well  as  from  personal  peculiarities.1  Nicknam¬ 
ing  is  practised  everywhere  by  savages  as  by  children,  and 
tricks  of  imitation,  fancied  resemblances,  or  accidental 
associations  afford  the  suggestions.2  Assuming  that  prim¬ 
itive  men  for  generations  had  named  and  nicknamed 
themselves  from  natural  objects  and  had  decorated  them¬ 
selves  with  such  trophies  of  the  chase  as  feathers,  beaks, 
horns,  claws,  or  even  entire  heads  or  skins,  we  can  see  that 
but  one  conclusion  was  possible  when  they  thought  about 
the  relation  of  such  facts  to  their  conceptions  of  spirits. 
A  man  who  found  himself  named  from  the  eagle  necessa¬ 
rily  believed  that  he  shared  the  spirit  of  the  eagle  in  a 
peculiarly  intimate  and  permanent  way,  and  he  therefore 
felt  with  all  eagles  a  close  spiritual  kinship.  From  this 
belief  to  the  conclusion  that  the  eagles  would  protect  him 
in  many  mysterious  ways,  and  that  he  must  refrain  from 
injuring  any  eagle  as  he  would  refrain  from  injuring  a 
human  associate,  was  an  easy  transition  in  his  simple 
thought.  The  eagle  became  his  medicine  or  toten^3 

1  Grey,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  228. 

2  McLennan,  “  Worship  of  Animals  and  Plants,”  Fortnightly  Review , 
Yol.  VI.,  October  and  November,  1869,  and  Vol.  VII.,  February,  1870; 
Lang,  “  Custom  and  Myth,”  pp.  261,  262,  269  ;  Spencer,  “  The  Principles 
of  Sociology,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  367. 

8  See  definition,  ante,  p.  158. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


251 


This  conclusion  once  reached,  naming  would  have  a  new 
significance.  Naming  would  be  the  creation  of  a  spiritual 
kinship  that  would  determine  a  child’s  weal  or  woe  in 
every  circumstance  of  life.  Extreme  dread  would  be  felt 
of  incurring  such  a  responsibility  without  supernatural 
guidance,  and  of  how  the  guidance  was  sought  we  have 
many  indications  in  surviving  savage  customs.  For  exam¬ 
ple,  in  parts  of  the  world  so  widely  separated  as  Samoa 
and  the  isthmus  of  Tehuantepec  it  was  formerly  the  prac¬ 
tice  when  a  birth  was  expected  for  relatives  to  draw  and 
erase  on  the  ground  figures  of  animals,  one  after  another, 
and  the  one  that  remained  when  the  infant  appeared  be¬ 
came  the  child’s  totem.1  Luck  determined  the  matter,  but 
luck  was  governed  by  the  spirits.  The  North  American 
Indian  boy  usually  took  as  his  medicine  the  first  animal 
of  which  he  dreamed  during  the  long  and  solitary  fast  that 
he  observed  at  puberty.2 

The  bond  between  one’s  self  and  one’s  £qtemic  allies 
could  be  made  stronger  yet,  according  to  primitive  ideas, 
by  permanently  marking  an  image  or  sign  of  the  totem 
on  one’s  body.  If,  in  connection  with  hunting  and  with 
pantomimic  amusements,  the  imitation  of  animal  forms 
had  already  extended  to  the  breaking  and  pulling  of  teeth, 
the  cutting  and  twisting  of  hair,  and  other  mutilations 
which  are  common  among  savages,  and  if  some  practice  in 
outline  drawing  had  been  acquired,  the  systematic  devel¬ 
opment  of  masking,  scarring,  and  tattooing  as  totemistic 
devices,  would  now  naturally  follow.  Thenceforth  every 
individual  would  possess  not  only  in  his  name,  but  in  muti¬ 
lations  of  his  body,  and  in  the  figures  cut,  pricked,  or 
burned  into  his  skin,  an  enduring  identification  of  himself 
with  protecting  spiritual  powers. 

1  Turner,  “Nineteen  Years  in  Polynesia,”  p.  17 ;  Bancroft,  “The  Native 
Races  of  the  Pacific  States,”  Yol.  I.,  p.061.  Cf.  Erazer,  “Totemism,”  p.  55. 

2  Frazer,  op.  cit.,  p.  54 ;  and  Catlin,  “North  American  Indians,”  Vol. 
I.,  p.  36. 


252 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


In  all  this  curious  mental  evolution  there  had  evidently 
been  taking  place  a  strange  extension  of  the  consciousness 
of  kind.  A  man’s  intimate  fellows  were  no  longer  only 
the  human  comrades  of  his  own  band  and  speech.  Creat¬ 
ures  of  another  species,  even  of  the  vegetable  world,  might 
be  nearer  to  him,  and  more  like  his  essential  self,  than  the 
nearest  human  friends.  All  men  marked  as  he  was  marked, 
and  therefore  related  to  his  totem,  were  necessarily  his 
comrades,  though  they  came  from  distant  lands.  All  creat¬ 
ures  that  were  friendly  to  his  totem  or  to  his  totemic  fel¬ 
low  were  necessarily  friendly  to  him;  all  that  were  hostile 
to  his  totem  or  to  his  totemic  fellow  were  hostile  also  to 
him.  All  related  spirits  that  protected  his  totemic  fellow, 
his  totem,  and  himself  were  good  spirits.  All  stranger 
spirits  were  bad  spirits.  Society,  like  thought,  had  crossed 
the  bound  that  separated  the  intangible  from  the  tangible. 
The  community  thenceforth  consisted  of  both  visible  and 
invisible  members,  and  its  bonds  of  union  were  not  only 
political,  but  also  religious. 

The  six  groups  of  ideas  that  together  represented  all  the 
interests  of  primitive  human  life,  transmitted  from  genera¬ 
tion  to  generation,  and  slowly  enlarged  and  enriched  with 
increasing  knowledge,  became  the  three  great  primary  and 
the  three  great  secondary  traditions  of  the  social  mind; 
namely,  the  economic,  juridical,  and  political,  and  the  per¬ 
sonal,  aesthetic,  and  religious.  By  means  of  these  traditions 
new  knowledge,  as  it  was  acquired,  was  interpreted  and 
assimilated.  To  a  very  slight  extent,  no  doubt,  old  ideas 
and  new  were  wrought  into  faiths,  codes,  and  policies. 
Totemism  at  least  was  a  faith,  rules  of  toleration  were  an 
elementary  code,  and  alliance  was  a  policy.  To  a  yet 
slighter  extent  the  traditions  and  certain  modes  of  feeling 
and  of  conduct  were  combined  in  social  values,  such  as 
those  of  racial  and  social  types,  loyalty  and  other  bonds  of 
cohesion,  territory,  heroes,  totems,  arts,  and  ceremonies. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


253 


The  elements  of  tradition  were  further  blended  in  the 
beginnings  of  those  traditions  of  history,  at  first  mere 
legends  of  migration  and  adventure,  which,  in  combina¬ 
tion  with  race  and  language,  were  to  influence  military 
and  political  groupings  in  the  later  evolution  of  society. 

The  dispersion  and  intermixture  of  stocks  which  had 
created  unlike  races  had  created  also  unlike  forms  of 
speech.  For  a  time,  doubtless,  race  and  language  were 
closely  identified,  but  from  the  earliest  differentiations  of 
either  race  or  language  some  confusion,  resulting  from 
migration  and  intermixture,  was  inevitable.  As  time 
went  on  and  mankind,  increasing  in  numbers,  became 
more  and  more  heterogeneous,  race  and  language  tended 
more  and  more  to  separate.  A  race  often  spoke  more 
than  one  tongue.  Each  language  united  men  of  more 
than  one  race. 

Language  and  tradition,  on  the  contrary,  tended  always 
towards  close  union.  Community  of  speech  necessarily 
carried  with  it  community  of  culture,  and,  to  some  extent, 
community  of  history.  Mankind  was  thus  differentiated 
into  culture  divisions,  as  into  races.  The  great  culture 
divisions  of  the  present  time  were  produced  long  after 
existing  races  were  evolved  from  the  intermixture  of  ear¬ 
lier  races,  and  are  therefore  of  late  origin.1  The  Malayo- 
Polynesian  languages  and  traditions,  for  example,  unite, 
in  one  easily  distinguished  culture,  groups  of  men  that 
belong  to  several  different  mixed  races.  The  same  is  true 
of  the  Bantu  languages  and  traditions  of  South  Africa,  of 
the  aboriginal  languages  and  traditions  of  America,  and  of 
the  languages  and  traditions  of  central  and  northern  Asia. 
Most  of  all  is  it  true  of  the  great  families  of  languages  and 
traditions  known  as  Hamitic,  Semitic,  and  Aryan  or  Indo- 
European.  Still,  in  all  of  these  culture  divisions  there 
unquestionably  survive  characteristic  elements  that  go 
back  to  primitive  differentiations. 

1  Cf.  Lef6vre,“  Les  races  et  les  langues.” 


254 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


For  many  years  after  the  rise  of  comparative  philology, 
both  philology  and  history  were  perverted  by  an  uncritical 
assumption  of  the  identity  of  race  with  language,  and  it  is 
not  strange  that  distinguished  scholars  have  been  disposed 
to  set  aside  the  conception  of  race  as  being  little  more  than 
a  figment  of  the  imagination.1  The  facts  nevertheless,  if 
we  knew  them  all,  could  hardly  justify  the  conclusion  that 
race  and  language  are  often  entirely  sundered.  On  the  con¬ 
trary,  we  can  more  safely  assume  that  identity  of  language 
and  cultural  tradition  tends  always  to  create  identity  of 
race.  Men  and  women  of  the  same  speech  and  language 
intermarry.  While,  therefore,  Renan,  Darmesteter,  Pro¬ 
fessor  Sayce,  and  others  are  quite  right  in  maintaining  that 
such  a  phenomenon  as  the  Aryan  speech,  or  as  the  Jewish 
faith,  is  a  fact  of  tradition  rather  than  of  race,  it  is  also  true 
that,  with  exceptions  too  few  to  notice,  men  of  the  Aryan 
speech,  or  men  of  the  Jewish  or  of  any  other  great  tradition, 
are  to  a  large  extent  of  one  blood.  These  divisions  of  man¬ 
kind,  in  which  there  is  a  partial  identification  of  race  and 
language  within  the  unity  of  a  cultural  tradition,  have 
played  an  important  part  in  history  and  should  be  desig¬ 
nated  by  a  term  that  distinguishes  them  from  races  in  the 
strict  physical  sense  and  yet  does  not  ignore  the  racial  ele¬ 
ment.  They  may  very  well  be  called  the  culture  races. 

The  effects  of  association  among  primitive  men  and  their 
immediate  ancestors  were  thus  of  the  most  radical  character. 
The  animal  mind  was  transformed  into  the  human  mind ; 
the  animal  body  into  the  human  body.  These  transforma¬ 
tions  placed  man  so  far  beyond  the  effective  competition 
of  other  creatures  that  he  thenceforth  subdued  them  and 
his  physical  environment  in  a  measure  to  his  own  uses. 
The  centre  of  transformation  was  the  mental  and  moral 

1  Renan,  “  Le  juda'isme  comme  race  et  comme  religion  ”  ;  Darmesteter, 
“Race  and  Tradition,”  in  “ Selected  Essays ”  ;  and  Sayce,  “The  Races 
of  the  Old  Testament,”  pp.  10  sq. 


ANTHROPOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


255 


life.  By  means  of  his  psychical  evolution,  his  physical 
development  was  accomplished  and  mental  and  physical 
evolution  together  were  the  means  of  supremacy.  The 
turning-point  in  mental  evolution  was  the  genesis  of  speech, 
and  the  resulting  power  of  abstract  thought.  Ideas  un¬ 
known  to  the  animal  mind  appeared  then  in  consciousness 
and  became  a  permanent  possession.  Together  these  ac¬ 
quisitions  —  speech,  ideas  of  wealth,  of  toleration,  and  of 
combination ;  of  personality,  spirit,  and  worship,  of  tradi¬ 
tion,  and  of  social  values  —  constituted  the  human  mind,  in 
distinction  from  the  animal  mind.  To  create  the  human 
mind  was  the  great  work  of  anthropogenic  association. 


CHAPTER  III 

ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 

Human  society  truly  begins  when  social  consciousness 
and  tradition  are  so  far  developed  that  all  social  relations 
exist  not  only  objectively,  as  habits  of  association,  but  also 
subjectively,  in  the  thought,  feeling,  and  purpose  of  the 
associated  individuals.  It  is  this  self-conscious  phase 
that  distinguishes  human  from  animal  communities.  For 
when  the  society  exists  in  idea,  no  less  than  in  habits  of 
association,  the  idea  begins  to  react  upon  all  the  objective 
relations.  The  social  idea,  at  first  only  a  perception  or  a  con¬ 
ception,  becomes  an  ideal,  which  the  community  endeavours 
to  realize.  From  this  time  on  the  forms  of  association  and. 
of  associated  activity,  determined  in  part  by  direct  physi¬ 
cal  causation,  are  determined  in  part  by  the  social  mind. 

In  the  earliest  and  simplest  forms  of  human  society,  the 
social  constitution  is  not  differentiated  from  the  social 
composition.  For  some  purposes  the  group  as  a  whole  is 
the  cooperating  body.  For  other  purposes  the  cooperating 
body  is  some  component  group.  There  is  no  division  of 
labour  except  that  which  is  incidental  to  the  composition  of 
self-sufficing,  self-perpetuating  social  groups,  like  the  family 
and  the  horde.  At  a  later  time,  however,  the  social  consti¬ 
tution  is  differentiated  within  itself  and  is  to  a  great  extent 
separated  from  the  social  composition. 

Therefore,  through  a  long  succession  of  periods,  the 
action  of  the  social  mind  upon  social  structure  is  primarily 
a  moulding  of  the  social  composition.  Or  when  it  acts 
directly  upon  the  social  constitution,  it  is  yet  greatly  mod- 

256 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


257 


ifying  the  social  composition.  Working  conjointly  with 
unconscious  forces,  it  is  creating  definite  forms  of  the 
family,  the  tribe,  and  the  nation.  Only  when  the  ethnos 
is  established  does  the  social  mind  begin  to  act  directly 
on  the  social  constitution,  and  thereby  to  organize  and  to 
develop  the  demos. 

It  follows,  as  was  pointed  out  in  an  earlier  chapter, 
that  a  study  of  social  composition  is  nearly  coextensive 
with  ethnogenic  sociology  and  that  ethnogenic  sociology  is 
mainly  a  study  of  the  evolution  of  the  social  composition, 
though  incidentally  it  is  necessary  to  observe  many  associ¬ 
ated  developments  of  the  social  constitution. 

The  most  important  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  dif¬ 
ficult  sociological  problems  of  ethnogenic  association  are 
those  of  the  early  forms  of  the  family  and  of  the  relation 
of  the  family  to  the  origins  of  the  clan  and  the  tribe.  They 
all  centre  in  the  theory  of  the  clan.  If  we  can  discover  the 
origin  of  the  clan  and  make  clear  its  relations  to  the  family 
and  to  the  tribe,  we  shall  explain  all  that  is  most  character¬ 
istic  in  the  organization  of  tribal  society. 

In  examining  these  problems,  we  must  remember  the  dis¬ 
tinction  between  (1)  modes  of  intercourse  and  aid  which 
generate  the  various  relations  that  make  up  the  social 
composition  and  the  social  constitution,  and  (2)  the  social 
composition  and  constitution  themselves,  which  are  those 
relatively  permanent  forms  of  intercourse  and  aid  which 
the  social  mind  has  approved  of,  and  which  natural  selec¬ 
tion  has  then  confirmed.  Thus  though  transient  relations 
of  the  sexes  may  be  an  important  factor  in  the  phenomena 
of  population,  they  do  not  create  the  family  as  a  unit  of 
social  composition,  nor  do  momentary  activities  of  coopera¬ 
tion  or  temporary  divisions  of  labour  create  the  social  con¬ 
stitution. 

This  discrimination  will  greatly  simplify  the  problem  of 
the  primitive  family.  If,  for  example,  it  should  be  shown 

s 


258 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


that  in  primitive  communities  the  relations  of  the  sexes 
closely  approached  promiscuous  intercourse,  that  fact 
would  not  prove  that  there  were  no  true  family  relations 
in  primitive  communities,  nor  would  the  existence  of  defi¬ 
nite  family  relations  prove  that  outside  of  these  there  was 
no  sexual  intercourse. 

There  are  four  possible  explanations  of  the  origin  of  the 
metronymic  tribe.  It  might  be  assumed  that  clans  are 
older  than  tribes,  and  that  tribes  originate  from  clans  by 
integration.  This  assumption  has  often  been  made  by 
ethnologists  without  any  distinct  idea  of  its  difficult  im¬ 
plications.  Secondly,  it  might  be  assumed  that  a  single 
undifferentiated  horde  grows  to  tribal  dimensions  and 
presently  becomes  differentiated  into  clans.  Thirdly,  it 
might  be  assumed  that  each  of  a  number  of  neighbouring 
hordes  becomes  differentiated  into  clan  organizations,  each 
of  which,  through  the  wife-stealing  exogamy  of  the  hordes, 
is  in  time  represented  in  every  horde,  and  that  by  war  or 
by  some  other  pressure  these  now  heterogeneous  hordes 
are  at  length  compacted  into  a  tribe,  which  is  thus  neces¬ 
sarily  constituted  of  all  the  clans  represented  in  all  the 
hordes.  Finally  it  might  be  assumed  that  each  horde  in  a 
cluster  or  group  of  hordes  becomes  practically  a  clan  by 
retaining  a  majority  of  all  members  of  that  clan  and  by 
including  with  them  only  a  few  individuals  of  other  clans, 
and  that  such  clan-hordes  presently  draw  together  into  a 
tribal  organization. 

Reflection  will  show  that  the  real  difficulty  presented  by 
either  of  these  assumptions  is  that  of  reconciling  the  facts 
of  clan  exogamy,  female  kinship,  and  residence. 

Few  writers  have  seen  how  difficult  the  problem  really 
is.  Thus  to  some  it  has  seemed  comparatively  easy  to  ex¬ 
plain  the  clan  as  a  horde  transformed  by  combination  with 
other  hordes  into  a  section  of  a  tribe.  This  view  is  sub¬ 
stantially  the  same  as  that  which  regards  clans  as  older 
than  tribes  and  accounts  for  tribes  as  aggregations  of  clans. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


259 


But  this  view  is  irreconcilable  with  clan  exogamy.  Evi¬ 
dently  if  a  man  is  obliged  to  take  a  wife  from  some  other 
clan  than  his  own,  no  clan  can  exist  apart  from  other  clans 
and  no  horde  can  be  composed  exclusively  of  members  of 
one  clan. 

It  might,  however,  be  claimed  that  although  a  horde 
cannot  be  composed  exclusively  of  persons  belonging  to 
one  clan,  a  majority  of  its  members  can  be  of  one  clan,  and 
the  remainder  may  belong  to  many  different  clans.  For 
all  practical  purposes  of  society  and  government  therefore, 
a  horde  could  be  a  clan,  and  such  clan-hordes  could  easily 
come  into  existence,  the  moment  that  several  hordes, 
though  not  united  in  a  tribe,  lived  in  proximity  and  devel¬ 
oped  the  practice  of  always  obtaining  wives  from  each 
other.  Many  facts  point  to  the  existence  of  such  groups 
before  tribes  were  formed;  for  example,  in  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Indian  tribe  it  was  usual  for  each  clan  to  have  a 
chief. 

This  practical  identity  of  horde  and  clan  would  be  pos¬ 
sible  in  a  group  of  metronymic  and  exogamous  hordes,  if 
the  man  always  went  to  live  in  the  horde  and  clan  of  his 
wife.  It  would  be  possible  also  in  a  group  of  patronymic 
hordes  in  which  the  man  habitually  remained  in  the  horde 
of  his  birth  and  brought  his  wife  to  live  with  him.  But 
it  would  be  impossible  in  exogamous  hordes  where  the 
wife  followed  the  residence  of  her  husband,  but  in  which 
the  relationship  was  none  the  less  metronymic. 

This  last  case  presents  the  real  difficulty.  Such  hordes 
exist.  We  should  expect  them  to  become,  or  to  find  that 
they  always  have  been,  either  without  clans  or  with  as 
many  clans  as  have  been  drawn  on  for  wives,  since  the 
wife  would  always  be  of  a  different  clan  from  that  of  her 
husband,  and  children  would  follow  the  clan  of  the  mother. 
Under  these  conditions  could  there  be  a  local  group  of 
considerable  dimensions,  in  which  a  single  clan  might  in¬ 
clude  half  or  more  of  the  members  of  the  group  ? 


260 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


At  the  very  beginning  of  clan  organization,  for  a  single 
generation,  such  a  state  of  affairs  would  be  possible.  A 
horde  could  be  made  up  exclusively  of  brothers  and  sisters. 
The  brothers  would  bring  wives  to  the  camp,  obtaining 
them  from  several  different  hordes.  The  wives  would 
represent  many  different  clans,  but  the  husbands  and  their 
sisters  would  be  a  preponderating  clan.  Presently,  how¬ 
ever,  the  sisters  would  be  taken  in  marriage  and  conveyed 
to  other  hordes.  The  clan  would  now  be  reduced  to  the 
related  husbands.  They  would  have  offspring,  but  the  off¬ 
spring  would  not  follow  the  paternal  clan.  With  the  death 
of  the  fathers  the  paternal  clan  would  absolutely  disappear, 
and  in  place  of  it  there  would  be  several  new  clans, — 
those  of  the  mothers,  —  and  these  thenceforth  would  con¬ 
stitute  the  horde. 

Complications  like  these  make  it  evident  that  the  prob¬ 
lems  of  social  composition  should  be  studied  compara¬ 
tively,  as  incidents  of  the  process  of  social  evolution  as  a 
whole.  Needless  difficulties  have  crept  into  the  theories 
of  the  family,  the  clan,  and  the  tribe,  because  each  social 
relation  has  been  studied  too  much  by  itself.  True  special¬ 
ization  can  be  followed  successfully  only  step  by  step  with 
generalization.  We  shall  get  a  distorted  or  an  altogether 
wrong  view  of  the  genesis  of  family  and  clan  unless  we 
study  them  in  their  relations  to  all  other  aspects  of  social 
organization. 

Accordingly,  in  the  pages  that  follow,  social  evolution 
as  a  whole  will  be  viewed  in  its  successive  ethnogenic 
stages.  The  long  and  sometimes  devious  line  of  develop¬ 
ment  will  be  traced,  first,  through  the  ethnogenic  societies 
of  the  first  class,1  namely,  the  small  neighbouring  hordes  not 
yet  combined  in  tribes ;  secondly,  through  the  metronymic 
societies  of  the  second  and  third  classes ;  and  thirdly, 
through  the  patronymic  societies  of  the  second  and  third 
classes.  But  while  the  general  or  organic  view  must  domi- 

1  Ante,  pp.  157,  158. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


261 


nate,  the  problems  of  the  family,  clan,  and  tribe  chiefly 
will  occupy  attention  in  the  investigations  of  each  stage. 

When  a  region  that  is  too  poor  to  support  a  large  popu¬ 
lation,  nevertheless  affords  food  for  several  hordes  within 
an  area  not  too  wide  to  be  easily  traversed,  various  forms  of 
intercourse  appear.  Much  of  the  intercourse  is  quarrel¬ 
some,  some  of  it  is  friendly.  Usually  there  is  a  medley  of 
fighting  and  hospitality ;  but  sometimes  enmity  is  of  the 
extreme  degree  that  is  associated  with  a  confirmed  prac¬ 
tice  of  wife-stealing,  and  sometimes  friendliness  is  so  great 
that,  as  happens  among  the  Eskimo,  individuals  or  families 
go  at  any  time  to  live  in  a  neighbouring  camp,  and  the 
actual  food-supply  is  the  only  limit  of  hospitality.  If 
there  is  any  degree  of  friendliness,  and  if  the  conditions  of 
climate  and  topography  are  favourable,  periodical  festivities 
bring  the  hordes  together  in  large  gatherings.1  Such  con¬ 
tact  heightens  emotional  and  mental  power  and  develops 
language.  It  clarifies  the  social  consciousness  and  enlarges 
the  social  idea.  It  amplifies  tradition  and  lays  a  foundation 
for  permanent  cooperation. 

As  one  immediate  result  of  festivity  genetic  relationships 
become  complicated.  Whatever  the  form  of  the  family  in 
savage  life,  the  restraints  upon  sexual  indulgence  are  fre¬ 
quently  broken  down.2  The  festival  occasions  especially 
become  carnivals  of  lasciviousness.  Incidentally  there  is  a 
considerable  interchange  of  both  men  and  women  among 
the  neighbouring  hordes.  Whether  friendly  festivals 
alternate  with  quarrels  and  petty  wars  in  which  women 
are  stolen  from  the  vanquished  horde,  or  whether  men 
wander  from  camp  to  camp  attaching  themselves  now  to 

1  Lumholtz,  “  Among  Cannibals,”  p.  240. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  124;  also  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society ,  New 
Series,  Vol.  II.,  1863,  pp.  35,  42,  and  Yol.  III.,  p.  230.  For  testimony  to 
similar  practices  among  a  tribal  folk  so  highly  organized  as  the  Santals,  see 
Sherwill,  Journal  of  the  Asiatic  Society  of  Bengal,  Vol.  XX.,  1851,  p.  554. 


262 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


one  and  now  to  another,  or  whether,  as  Mitchell  and 
others  have  witnessed  in  Australia,1  the  women  of  a  horde 
defeated  in  a  fight  voluntarily  go  over  to  the  victors,  the 
result  is  an  increased  heterogeneity  in  the  demotic  com¬ 
position  of  each  horde,  and  the  relationship  that  is  due 
to  birth  extends  to  persons  of  different  hordes.  On  the 
whole,  demotic  heterogeneity  improves  the  physical  and 
mental  type.  Moreover,  through  heredity  the  individuals 
of  all  the  hordes  tend  towards  homogeneity  of  type,  thereby 
possibly  removing  one  ground  of  hostility. 

An  increasing  personal  inequality,  which  becomes  a 
more  and  more  conspicuous  social  fact,  is  another  important 
consequence  of  periodical  festivities.  The  winners  in  the 
feats  of  strength  and  skill  acquire  distinction  not  only 
among  their  own  kindred  but  among  the  men  of  other 
hordes.  Clever  men  and  old  men  who  have  accumulated 
stores  of  knowledge  and  tradition  become  distinguished 
for  wisdom.  Such  inequality  is  the  foundation  of  leader¬ 
ship  and  of  that  useful  subordination  in  mutual  aid  which 
depends  on  voluntary  deference. 

Extended  intercourse  is  also  favourable  to  coordination 
through  mutual  understanding.  Under  pleasurable  ex¬ 
citement,  or  rivalry,  or  common  danger,  each  member  of  a 
crowd  may  so  far  share  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  his 
fellows  that  considerable  cooperation  is  possible.  Cooper¬ 
ation  of  this  kind,  as  well  as  cooperation  under  natural 
leadership,  is  often  observed  among  the  lowest  savages. 

These  forms  of  mutual  aid  are  often  consciously  pur¬ 
posive  ;  but  the  cooperation  is  temporary  and  is  not  organ¬ 
ized.  Thus  among  the  Australian  Blackfellows,  the  occa¬ 
sional  gatherings  are  for  hunting,  war,  and  feasting,  all  in 
one.  The  same  group  of  persons  carries  on  one  common 
activity  to-day,  another  common  activity  to-morrow. 

On  these  simple  forms  of  intercourse  and  mutual  aid  the 
social  mind  acts  by  acquiescence,  approval,  and  selection, 

1  “Journal  of  Expedition  into  New  South  Wales,”  Yol.  I.,  p.  314. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


263 


and  thus  creates  the  more  permanent  relationships  of  the 
social  composition  and  the  social  constitution. 

When  the  once  universal  belief  that  the  earliest  human 
family  was  patriarchal  in  type  broke  down  in  the  face  of 
accumulating  evidence  that  primitive  relationships  were 
traced  through  mothers  instead  of  through  fathers,  and 
that,  even  now,  the  social  organization  of  many  tribal 
communities  is  metronymic,1  opinion  swung  far  to  the 
opposite  extreme.  Theories  of  a  primitive  communism  in 
women,2  of  a  general  promiscuity 3  incompatible  with  any 
sort  of  family  life,  of  consanguine  families4  formed  by 
unions  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  other  theories  equally 
radical,  found  ready  acceptance.  Further  investigation  and 
more  mature  criticism  have  shown  that  communistic  and 
patriarchal  theories  are  equally  untenable  as  explanations 
of  primitive  society.5  Extreme  freedom  in  sexual  relations 
does  not  prove  the  one  theory,  for  freedom  may  coexist 
with  definite  forms  of  family  organization,  as  it  does 
among  the  Innuit,6  the  Todas,7  the  Khonds,8  as  it  did 
among  the  Tahitians9  and  as  it  undoubtedly  did  once 

1  Ante,  p.  158;  Westermarck,  “The  History  of  Human  Marriage,” 
p.  97  ;  and  Frazer,  “Totemism,”  pp.  69,  70. 

2  Lubbock,  “  The  Origin  of  Civilization  and  the  Primitive  Condition  of 
Man,”  Chap.  III. 

*  Bachofen,  “  Das  Mutterrecht,”  pp.  xix,  xx,  10  ;  ibid.,  “Antiquarische 
Briefe,”  pp.  20  sq. ;  McLennan,  “  Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  pp.  92-95 ; 
Post,  “  Die  Geschlechtsgenossenschaft  der  Urzeit,”  pp.  16  sq. 

4  Morgan,  “  Systems  of  Consanguinity  and  Affinity  of  the  Human 

Family,”  p.  12;  “Ancient  Society,”  pp.  384  sq.,  pp.  401  sq. 

6  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  Chaps.  IV.,  V.,  VI. 

6  Ross,  “A  Voyage  of  Discovery,”  p.  133;  and  Reclus,  “Primitive 
Folk,”  p.  32. 

7  Shortt,  in  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society ,  New  Series, 
Vol.  VII.,  1869,  p.  240  ;  and  Metz,  “  Die  Volkstamme  der  Nilagiri’s,”  p.  24. 

8  Macpherson,  in  Journal  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  182. 

9  Wallis,  in  “  Hawkesworth’s  Voyages,”  Vol.  L,  p.  261 ;  Moerenhout, 
“Voyage  aux  iles  du  grand  Oc6an,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  484-503;  and  Letour- 
neau,  “La  sociologie  d’apres  T ethnographic,”  p.  57. 


264 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


among  the  Aryan  peoples.1  Paternal  headship  of  the 
family  does  not  prove  the  other  theory,  for  headship  may 
be  lax  or  of  short  duration.  Men  may  habitually  desert 
their  own  and  invade  each  other’s  domestic  circles. 

There  are  no  means  of  certainly  determining  the  charac¬ 
ter  of  the  primitive  human  family.  The  geological  record 
does  not  reveal  it,  and,  as  has  already  been  pointed  out, 
we  cannot  be  sure  that  the  lowest  savage  societies  of  the 
present  day  exactly  reproduce  all  the  features  of  primitive 
communities.2  Living  in  environments  more  favourable 
than  those  of  the  lowest  hordes  of  to-day,  primitive  men 
were  probably  often  massed  in  relatively  large  bands,  and 
their  sexual  relations  may  therefore  have  been  even  more 
irregular  than  are  those  of  any  existing  horde.  But  there 
is  at  least  a  reasonable  presumption  that  the  family  of 
primitive  man  was  an  intermediate  development  between 
the  family  of  the  highest  animals  and  that  of  the  lowest 
living  men.3  If  so,  it  was  a  simple  pairing  family  easily 
dissolved,  and  perhaps  rarely  lasting  for  life. 

From  the  lowest  to  the  highest  animals  there  is  a  steady 
approach  towards  relatively  definite  family  relations.4 

In  the  lowest  existing  societies  of  human  beings  the 
commonest  marriage  is  a  temporary  monogamy.  Usually 
the  husband  sooner  or  later  deserts  the  wife  to  take 
another  5  or  he  exchanges  wives  with  some  one  else,  but  at 
any  given  moment  the  population  is  disposed  for  the  most 
part  in  monogamous  groups.6 

If  the  husband  deserts  his  family,  the  children,  depen¬ 
dent  on  the  mother  and  her  male  relatives,  take  the 

1  Hopkins,  “The  Social  and  Military  Position  of  the  Ruling  Caste  in 
Ancient  India,”  Journal  of  the  American  Oriental  Society,  Vol.  XIII., 

1888,  p.  118. 

2  Ante,  p.  210. 

8  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  pp.  14,  15,  and  50. 

*  Ante,  pp.  154,  155,  and  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  pp.  9-14. 

6  Ante,  p.  155,  and  Bonwick,  “Daily  Life  and  Origin  of  the  Tasma¬ 

nians,”  p,  73.  6  Ante,  p.  156. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


265 


mother  name.  This  circumstance  is  the  explanation  of 
an  apparent  contradiction  of  facts  to  which  attention  was 
called  in  the  controversy  between  Maine  and  the  assailants 
of  his  patriarchal  theory.  Maine  relied  on  the  fact  of  male 
jealousy,  made  much  of  by  Darwin,  to  prove  that  the 
primitive  family  was  under  paternal  power  and  that  pro¬ 
miscuous  sexual  relations  could  never  have  been  general.1 
McLennan  2  and  others  relied  on  descent  through  mothers 
to  prove  that  the  paternal  family  was  of  late  origin. 
The  truth  would  seem  to  be  that  the  primitive  family  may 
have  been  founded  on  masculine  power  and  that  descent 
may  nevertheless  have  been  reckoned  through  women. 

Wherever  the  conditions  of  life  are  so  hard  that  the 
husband  and  father  must  help  to  support  the  family,3  or 
where,  for  any  other  reason,  the  family  holds  together 
until  children  are  grown,  and  in  the  meantime  is  under 
the  father’s  power,  it  is  likely  to  be  patronymic.  There 
are  hordes  in  which  descent  is  reckoned  through  fathers. 
It  is  so  reckoned  among  many  Eskimo  of  Greenland,4 
possibly  among  the  Fuegians,5  and  possibly  also  among 
some  hordes  of  the  Brazilian  6  forests.  In  these  cases  the 
environment  is  such  that  families  dependent  on  woman’s 
efforts  alone  would  soon  perish.  This  is  true  especially 
of  the  Innuit,  whose  chief  source  of  food  and  clothing 
is  the  walrus,  obtained  only  by  dangerous  effort,  for  which 
women  in  general  are  unfit.  Natural  selection  has  there¬ 
fore  preserved  the  type  in  which  men  actively  aid  in  eco¬ 
nomic  effort  and  support  the  family  until  children  are  able 

1  “  Early  Law  and  Custom,”  Chap.  VII. 

2  “  The  Patriarchal  Theory.” 

3  Cf.  Eerrero,  “The  Problem  of  Woman  from  a  Bio-Sociological  Point 
of  View”  ;  The  Monist ,  Vol.  IV.,  No.  2,  January,  1894. 

4  Crantz,  “The  History  of  Greenland,”  Vol.  I.,  p.  176. 

6  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  p.  105,  and  Hyades,  Bulletins  d’anthropologie 
de  Paris ,  Vol.  X.,  Series  IV.,  1887,  p.  333.  It  is  necessary  to  say 
“  possibly  ”  because  the  statements  of  observers  are  conflicting. 

0  Starcke,  “The  Primitive  Family,”  p.  41. 


266 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


to  care  for  themselves.  In  the  tropical  forests  of  the 
Andaman  islands,  which  are  dry  and  healthy  and  afford 
an  abundance  of  food,  a  woman  and  her  infant  child  can 
find  subsistence  without  the  husband’s  help,  and  it  is  there¬ 
fore  not  remarkable  that  marriage  among  the  Mincopis  is 
commonly  dissolved  as  soon  as  the  child  is  weaned.1 

It  seems  to  be  an  economic  condition  then  which,  in 
the  lowest  communities,  determines  the  duration  of  mar¬ 
riage  and  possibly  also  the  line  of  descent,  through  mothers 
or  through  fathers.  Consequently  the  stability  of  the 
family  increases  as  the  division  of  labour  between  the 
sexes  becomes  perfect.  This  primary  differentiation  of 
employments  is  the  condition  precedent  to  any  progress 
from  the  lowest  savagery  towards  a  better  state  of  life. 
It  originates  in  the  different  physical  natures  of  male  and 
female  and  in  the  conditions  of  a  primitive  existence. 
Savage  life  is  a  series  of  petty  wars;  at  all  times  the 
community  must  be  ready  to  meet  its  foes.  During  the 
best  years  of  life,  women  are  by  child-bearing  unfitted  for 
fighting  or  hunting.  As  these  activities  must  be  under¬ 
taken  by  the  men,  the  women  must  do  the  drudgery,  as 
far  as  their  strength  permits.  Not  only  must  they  attend 
to  domestic  duties,  keep  the  fire,  do  the  cooking,  and  pro¬ 
vide  such  simple  manufactured  articles  as  mats  and  fish¬ 
ing-nets;  but  they  must  also  actively  assist  in  procuring 
any  food  that  is  within  their  reach,  and  on  the  march  they 
must  become  beasts  of  burden,  lugging,  besides  their  babies, 
the  utensils  and  supplies.  This  latter  practice  is  universal 
among  savages,  and  the  necessity  of  it  is  so  obvious  that 
the  women  themselves  defend  it.  The  men  must  be  free 
to  fight  at  any  instant  or  to  meet  any  surprise.  To  load 
themselves  with  other  burdens  than  their  weapons  might 
be  to  sacrifice  the  lives  of  all.  It  therefore  seems  quite 
wrong  to  conclude  that  women  in  savage  life  are  always 

1  Belcher  (from  Notes  by  St.  John),  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological 
Society ,  New  Series,  Yol.  V.,  1867,  p.  45. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


267 


slaves,  and  men  their  tyrannical  masters.  Certainly  their 
condition  is  wretched,  but  at  the  outset  it  is  made  so  more 
by  the  social  conditions  than  by  masculine  will  and  power. 
There  is  plenty  of  evidence  to  show  that  so  far  from  being 
slaves,  the  women  of  those  low  societies  that  are  organized 
on  the  basis  of  kin  and  retain  descent  in  the  female  line, 
are  on  a  substantial  public  and  private  equality  with  the 
men.  The  more  important  woman’s  industry  becomes  to 
man  and  man’s  protection  to  woman,  the  more  he  cares 
for  the  simple  comforts  that  she  provides,  and  the  more 
dependent  she  is  on  his  assistance  in  adding  to  the  food- 
supply  by  hunting,  or  in  doing  tasks  beyond  her  strength, 
such,  for  example,  as  hut  and  canoe  building,  so  much  the 
more  enduring  is  the  family  relation  in  savage  commu¬ 
nities. 

Whether  descent  is  counted  through  mothers  or  through 
fathers,  the  family  group  in  the  savage  horde  is  usually  ex- 
ogamous.  Though  the  practice  of  taking  own  sisters  as 
wives  is  not  pnknown.1  it  is  exceptional.  The  abhorrence 
of  incest  is  probably  an  instinctive  inheritance  from  a 
prehuman  ancestry;  the  higher  animals  generally  avoid 
close  interbreeding.  The  instinct  was  doubtless  produced 
by  the  stimulating  effect  of  novelty  upon  sexual  desire, 
supplemented  by  natural  selection.2  Strictly  speaking, 
the  instinct  is  one  against  the  mating  of  nest-  or  house¬ 
mates,  whether  they  are  relatives  or  not,  and  it  does  not 
prevent  the  mating  of  near  kin  if  they  happen  to  have 
been  reared  apart.3  It  becomes  an  abhorrence  of  the  mat¬ 
ing  of  near  kindred,  as  such,  only  after  much  knowledge 
has  been  acquired  and  after  the  powers  of  reflective 
thought  have  been  further  developed  than  they  often 
are  in  savagery. 

1  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  Chap.  XIV.  Cf.  also  Owen,  Transactions  oj 
the  Ethnological  Society ,  New  Series,  Vol.  II.,  1863,  pp.  35,  42. 

2  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  Chaps.  XIII.,  XIV.,  XV. 

*  Ibid.,  op.  cit.,  pp.  320-334. 


268 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


When  hordes  are  brought  into  contact,  the  simple  pair¬ 
ing  family,  based  on  the  forms  of  courtship  that  prevail 
among  animals,  is  commonly  altered  in  one  of  two  alter¬ 
nate  ways,  and  its  relations  to  the  horde  are  correspond¬ 
ingly  changed.  In  the  pairing  family  that  is  based  on 
courtship,  the  relations  of  the  sexes  are  substantially  those 
of  equality.1  In  savage  life  this  seems  to  be  possible  only 
when  a  man  chooses  a  woman  of  his  own  band,  as  is  the 
custom  among  the  Veddahs.2  In  the  family  that  results 
from  the  intercourse  of  independent  hordes  either  the 
husband  or  the  wife  becomes  subordinate.  If  the  hordes 
are  friendly,  a  man  often  leaves  his  own  horde  to  attach 
himself  to  a  neighbouring  group.  Finding  there  a  woman 
to  his  liking,  he  lives  with  her  among  her  own  people. 
Under  these  circumstances  he  has  practically  no  authority 
over  wife  and  children,  because  the  wife  and  mother  can 
always  appeal  to  her  brethren,  who  take  her  part.  The 
husband  has  to  live  with  her  on  sufferance.  This  form  of 
the  family  is  known  among  ethnologists  as  beena  marriage,3 
the  name  given  to  it  in  Ceylon,  where  it  prevails  exten¬ 
sively.  It  is  found  also  in  other  widely  separated  parts  of 
the  world,  for  example  among  the  Arawaks  of  Guiana4 
and  the  Dyaks  of  Borneo.6  The  wife  and  children  in 
beena  marriage  always  belong  to  the  horde  of  the  wife. 
If  the  husband  chooses  to  go  back  to  his  own  people,  he 
must  leave  his  family  and  property  unless  he  can  get  them 
away  as  plunder,  as  Jacob  did  when  he  left  Laban.6  Such 
relationships  were  observed  by  Lieutenant  Peary’s  party 
in  Greenland  in  1891.  Among  the  northern  Greenlanders 

1  See  Fielding,  “Burmese  Women,”  Blackwood's  Magazine ,  Yol. 
CLVII.,  No.  5,  May,  1895,  p.  776,  especially  p.  778. 

2  Sirr,  “  Ceylon  and  the  Cingalese,”  Yol.  II.,  p.  218. 

8  McLennan,  “The  Patriarchal  Theory,”  pp.  42  sq.  ;  Smith,  “Kin. 
ship  and  Marriage  in  Early  Arabia,”  pp.  69,  71,  106,  156;  and  Wester- 
marck,  op.  cit.,  p.  112. 

4  Brett,  “The  Indian  Tribes  of  Guiana,”  p.  101. 

6  St.  John,  “  Life  in  the  Forests  of  the  Far  East,”  Vol.  I.,  pp.  60,  62. 

*  Genesis  xxxi.  18-21. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


269 


a  man  often  leaves  his  family  in  one  settlement  and  goes 
to  another,  where  he  contracts  a  new  marriage.  Some 
years  later  he  may  decide  to  return  to  his  former  home. 
He  then  leaves  the  new  family  and,  on  rejoining  the  horde 
where  he  had  formerly  lived,  he  usually  rejoins  his  former 
wife  and  children.1 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  neighbouring  hordes  are  more  or 
less  hostile,  the  stealing  of  women  is  always  one  of  the 
chief  causes  of  feud,  and  marriage  by  capture  is  a  preva¬ 
lent  form.2  In  this  case  the  wife  is  at  the  mercy  of  her 
captor  and  his  associates.  He  regards  her  as  property  and 
treats  her  with  severity.  Yet  it  does  not  necessarily  follow 
that  her  children  are  claimed  by  the  husband  or  that  they 
take  his  name.  In  various  parts  of  the  world  where  mar¬ 
riage  by  capture  prevails,  the  union  is  a  temporary  affair. 
Divorce  is  the  customary  sequel.  In  these  cases  the 
woman  and  her  children  may  still  be  held  as  property  by 
the  horde  of  her  captor,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  Tasma¬ 
nians,3  or  they  may  return  to  the  horde  of  the  mother,  as  is 
customary  among  the  Caribs.4  In  the  latter  case  there 
may  be  a  continual  returning  of  women  and  their  children 
to  the  mother  group,  and  children  then  are  always  regarded 
as  belonging  to  the  mother’s  kindred. 

If  either  beena  marriage  or  marriage  by  capture  becomes 
habitual,  the  horde,  like  the  household,  becomes  practically 
exogamous.  There  may  be  no  strict  rule  of  exogamy, 
there  may  be  no  penalties  attaching  to  endogamy,  but  in 
actual  practice  marriage  within  the  horde  becomes  more 
and  more  exceptional. 

1 1  am  indebted  for  these  particulars  to  Professor  Angelo  Heilprin,  who 
commanded  the  first  Peary  relief  expedition. 

2  See  McLennan,  “  Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  “  Primitive  Marriage  ”  ; 
Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  Chap.  XVII.;  Smith,  “Kinship  and  Marriage  in 
Early  Arabia,”  pp.  80  sq. 

3  Bonwick,  “  Daily  Life  and  Origin  of  the  Tasmanians,”  p.  74. 

4  Waitz,  “  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker,”  Bd.  III.,  p.  383 ;  and  Brett, 
“  The  Indian  Tribes  of  Guiana,”  p.  354. 


270 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Given  now  the  exogamy  of  the  household  and  of  the 
horde,  the  conditions  exist  for  an  evolution  of  the  clan 
from  the  family,  and,  under  certain  circumstances,  for  the 
practical  identification  of  the  clan  with  the  horde. 

That  the  original  nucleus  of  the  totemic  kindred  was  a 
group  of  actual  brothers  and  sisters  constituting  a  house¬ 
hold,  can  hardly  be  doubted.  Brothers  and  sisters  by  blood 
are  a  natural  economic  and  defensive  group,  spontaneously 
aiding  each  other  in  obtaining  food  and  in  redressing 
wrongs  inflicted  by  other  groups.  It  is  therefore  most 
natural  that  among  primitive  peoples  generally  the  relation 
of  brotherhood  and  sisterhood  is  more  sacred  than  any 
other.  Yet,  at  a  time  so  early  in  the  development  of 
social  relations  that  we  can  hardly  hope  to  discover  the 
origin  of  the  practice,  natural  brotherhoods  were  often  by 
expulsion  and  adoption  converted  into  semi-artificial  fra¬ 
ternities.  Adoption,  indeed,  was  practised  by  animals  long 
before  human  life  began.  The  adoption  of  motherless 
chickens  may  be  witnessed  in  any  farm-yard.  Orphan 
monkeys  are  adopted  and  carefully  guarded  by  other  mon¬ 
keys,  both  males  and  females,1  and  Darwin,  on  the  author¬ 
ity  of  Brehm,  tells  of  a  baboon  with  a  heart  so  big  that  she 
adopted  not  only  young  monkeys  of  other  species,  but  also 
puppies  and  kittens.2 

When  the  animistic  stage  of  culture  is  reached,  the  rela¬ 
tion  of  brotherhood  and  sisterhood,  whether  natural  or 
artificial,  acquires  a  peculiar  sanctity  through  the  belief 
that  men  are  akin  to  supernatural  beings.  Each  individual 
believes  that  the  relationship  between  himself  and  his  totem 
is  as  real  as  the  relationship  between  himself  and  his  human 
brother.3  This  belief  reacts  upon  his  conception  of  the 
human  relationship.  “  My  brother  or  sister,”  he  reasons, 
“being  akin  to  me,  is  necessarily  akin  to  my  totem.  I, 

1  Darwin,  “  Descent  of  Man,”  p.  70. 

2  Ibid. 

8  Ante,  pp.  250-252. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


271 


being  akin  to  my  brother  or  to  my  sister,  am  necessarily 
akin  to  his  or  to  her  totem.”  Under  the  influence  of  such 

i 

ideas,  in  the  course  of  time  it  must  happen  that  the  house¬ 
hold  group,  regarding  itself  as  a  supernatural  unit,  will 
have  its  collective  or  household  totem  in  addition  to  the 
individual  totems  of  its  members.  How  naturally  this  may 
come  to  pass,  is  seen  when  it  is  remembered  that  the  indi¬ 
vidual  totem  is  commonly  determined  by  luck.1  Often  it 
will  happen  that  several  members  of  the  same  household 
will  individually  have  the  same  totem,  which  will  therefore, 
just  because  of  such  luck,  be  regarded  as  the  special  house¬ 
hold  guardian. 

The  totemistic  sanction  reacts,  of  course,  upon  all  the 
practices  of  the  fraternal  group.  Adoption  becomes  a 
sacred  ceremony;  the  adopted  member  has  to  submit  to 
totemistic  marking  or  mutilation.  To  expel  is  to  deliver 
the  offender  over  to  the  wrath  of  malignant  spirits.  If  the 
circle  is  exogamous,  the  totem,  having  sanctioned  the  prac¬ 
tice,  may  be  offended  by  any  deviation  from  it.  Therefore 
incest,  at  first  abhorred  as  unnatural,  is  now  abhorred  as 
sin. 

These  totemistic  notions  have  further  consequences  of 
great  importance.  From  time  to  time  the  members  of  a 
household  circle  encounter  strangers  who  happen  to  be 
marked  with  the  household’s  totemic  signs.  To  the  savage 
mind  such  strangers  are  totemic  brothers  or  sisters  and 
every  rule  of  the  household  applies  to  them.  They  must 
share  its  protection,  they  come  within  its  prohibition  of 
marriage.  Controlled  by  such  beliefs,  the  men  of  a  frater¬ 
nal  circle  who  do  not  take  their  own  sisters  as  wives  will 
not  take  their  adopted  or  totemic  sisters  or  the  sisters  of 
their  adopted  or  totemic  brothers,  because  in  a  totemic 
sense  they  too  are  of  the  household  kin. 

Thus  the  natural  brotherhood  and  sisterhood  widens  and 
becomes  more  and  more  artificial.  For  a  long  period  each 

1  See  ante,  p.  251. 


272 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


succeeding  generation  of  uterine  and  adopted  brothers  and 
sisters  may  have  its  own  totemic  deity,  but  at  last  the 
time  comes  when,  under  the  influence  of  the  mother  and 
her  relatives,  and  through  reasoning  that  they  are  descended 
from  the  mother’s  totemic  deity,  the  circle  of  brothers  and 
sisters  begins  to  adhere  to  the  mother  totem  instead  of 
adopting  a  new  one.  From  that  moment  the  totemistic 
circle  begins  to  enlarge  by  the  natural  process  of  birth, 
and  to  assume  new  characteristics.  In  the  second  genera¬ 
tion  it  necessarily  includes  not  only  brothers  and  sisters, 
but  also  mothers,  daughters  and  sons,  uncles  and  aunts, 
nephews,  nieces,  and  cousins.  Moreover,  since  kinship  is 
reckoned  through  mothers  but  not  through  fathers,  the 
circle  can  claim  and  can  include  only  the  children  born  of 
its  daughters.  Children  of  sons  are  excluded  as  belonging 
to  the  kindreds  of  their  mothers.  The  rules  of  feud  and 
exogamy,  which  through  totemism  were  extended  to  adopted 
members  of  the  household  brotherhood,  are  now  in  like 
manner  and  by  like  reasoning  extended  to  all  members  of 
this  wider  and  yet  more  artificial  organization.  The  kin¬ 
dred  has  at  length  become  a  clan. 

The  totemic  clan  transforms  the  horde.  Each  horde 
may  contain  fragments  of  several  clans  or  it  may  consist 
mainly  of  members  of  one  clan. 

By  migrations  of  individuals  from  horde  to  horde,  by 
beena  marriage,  and  by  wife-stealing,  the  membership  of 
each  totemic  kindred  tends  to  distribute  itself  through  all 
the  neighbouring  hordes.  Each  horde,  therefore,  consists 
of  members  of  many  clans.  This  is  the  observed  fact  in 
Australia.1 

It  is  possible,  however,  for  the  membership  of  a  horde 
to  consist  mainly  of  the  members  of  a  single  clan.  It  has 
been  shown  that  with  descent  reckoned  through  mothers 
the  clan  can  practically  be  identified  with  the  horde  if 
1  Starcke,  “  The  Primitive  Family,”  pp.  24,  25,  26. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


27a 


men  follow  the  residence  of  the  wives  as  in  beena  marriage. 
The  difficult  case  to  account  for,  it  was  pointed  out,  is  that 
which  is  presented  by  a  practical  identity  of  clan  and  horde 
when  descent  is  through  mothers  and  the  wife  follows  the 
residence  of  the  husband,  as  she  must  when  marriage  is  by 
capture  or  by  purchase. 

There  is  one  way  in  which  the  difficulty  disappears. 
The  captured  wife  may  be  regarded  as  inferior  to  a  sister 
and  the  sister  may  be  the  housekeeper.  Divorce  may  be 
as  frequent  as  marriage,  and  women  with  infant  children 
may  habitually  return  to  the  camps  of  their  brethren  from 
which  they  were  stolen.  Even  when  children  remain  for 
many  years  in  the  residences  of  their  fathers,  they  may 
ultimately  go  to  the  horde  of  their  maternal  uncles  and 
aunts.  By  this  means  the  horde  of  the  mother  group, 
which  would  otherwise  disappear  under  the  practice  of 
wife-stealing  and  maternal  descent,  may  constantly  be  re¬ 
cruited  and  may  be  kept  intact. 

In  such  ways  as  these  a  group  of  neighbouring  hordes 
may  be  transformed  into  clans  and  be  prepared  for  integra¬ 
tion  into  a  tribe  consolidated  of  exogamous  metronymic 
clans. 

A  cluster  of  hordes  partially  or  almost  wholly  trans¬ 
formed  into  enatic  clans  becomes  a  metronymic  tribe  under 
conditions  that  force  the  hordes  into  close  and  permanent 
union.  The  condition  may  be  the  pressure  of  enemies. 
The  Andaman  hordes,  usually  living  apart,  show  a  good 
degree  of  power  to  combine  in  defensive  cooperation  for 
resistance  to  a  common  enemy.1  Or  the  conditions  may 
be  physical.  Flood,  fire,  drought,  shelter  in  winter,  or 
changes  in  the  distribution  of  food-supplies,  may  compel 
hordes  to  live  in  closer  proximity  than  was  formerly  their 
wont.  Or,  finally,  friendliness  of  intercourse  may  increase 

1  Heathcote,  in  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society ,  New  Series, 
Yol.  II.,  1863,  p.  46. 

T 


274 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


to  such  an  extent  that,  if  the  environment  is  adequate  for 
the  subsistence  of  a  larger  community  by  means  of  primi¬ 
tive  forms  of  industry,  the  hordes  may  draw  more  closely 
together  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  the  desire  for  com¬ 
panionship. 

In  either  case  it  is,  strictly  speaking,  a  further  develop¬ 
ment  of  congregation  which  constitutes  the  fact  of  social 
integration.  In  addition  to  the  intercourse  of  individuals, 
which  has  long  existed  between  members  of  different 
hordes,  there  is  now  a  close  congregation  and  a  permanent 
intercourse  of  the  hordes  as  units. 

The  transformation  of  a  cluster  of  hordes  into  a  true 
tribe  may  occur  quickly,  under  stress  of  unusual  pressure, 
but  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  has  often  hap¬ 
pened.  A  gradual  integration,  so  quietly  accomplished 
that  no  one  could  tell  where  the  independence  of  the 
hordes  ended  and  the  unification  of  the  tribe  was  com¬ 
pleted,  has  doubtless  been  the  normal  phenomenon. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  metronymic  tribes 
have  originated  in  the  consolidation  of  related  hordes  that 
have  long  lived  near  each  other.  Alien  hordes  may  be 
forced  into  proximity  and  finally  into  close  union. 

The  presumption  that  tribal  societies  are  thus  products 
of  congregation  not  less  than  of  genetic  aggregation  is 
supported  by  direct  evidence.  In  contemporaneous  tribal 
societies,  the  intermingling  of  more  or  less  unlike  and 
once  independent  elements  by  migration,  war,  conquest, 
slavery,  and  woman-stealing  has  been  continuous.  His¬ 
torical  materials  prove  that  similar  conditions  determined 
the  genesis  of  the  tribally  organized  communities  that  in 
earlier  times  developed  into  civilized  states. 

The  congregation  that  creates  tribal  societies  is,  how¬ 
ever,  of  the  primary  form.  It  has  been  shown  that  pri¬ 
mary  congregation  is  a  drawing  together  of  groups  that 
belong  to  the  same  racial  stock ;  as,  for  example,  groups 
belonging  to  the  Algonquin  or  the  Iroquois  race  of  Amer- 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


275 


ica.  Such  groups,  though  they  may  for  generations  have 
been  so  dispersed  that  they  have  regarded  each  other  as 
strangers,  have  yet  remained  within  the  same  geographical 
area  of  characterization ;  they  have  retained  similar  forms 
of  culture ;  and  their  likenesses  of  speech  indicate  that 
they  have  descended  from  a  common  ancestral  stock1 
which  found  its  way  into  their  area  of  characterization  at 
a  remote  and  usually  unknown  period.  But  they  are  not 
usually,  if,  indeed,  ever,  in  any  case  of  historical  record, 
descended  from  a  single  ancestral  family,  so  recent  that 
the  genealogies  can  be  traced.  Tradition  often  affirms 
such  an  ancestry,  but  other  facts  show  that  the  tradition  is 
a  mythical  explanation  of  the  alliance  or  cooperation. 

In  the  further  evolution  of  the  metronymic  tribe  and 
later  of  the  metronymic  folk,  and  of  the  patronymic  tribe 
and  folk,  the  phenomena  are  primarily  those  of  the  evolu¬ 
tion  and  the  establishment  of  forms  of  social  composition. 
Associated  with  this  evolution  are  further  developments 
of  the  social  mind  and  the  beginnings  of  an  evolution  of 
the  social  constitution. 

At  this  stage  of  development  it  is  possible  to  see  exactly 
how  the  social  constitution  arises.  It  is  differentiated  from 
the  social  composition  and  for  a  considerable  time,  that  is, 
until  ethnogenic  passes  into  civic  and  demogenic  associa¬ 
tion,  it  is  not  separated  from  the  social  composition.  Thus 
the  household  is  nearly,  but  not  quite,  identical  with  the 
natural  family.  The  household  is  the  family  organized  as 
an  economic  group,  and  as  such  it  may  adopt  persons  not 
of  the  family  blood.  The  clan  again  is  connected  with  the 
household  by  ties  of  blood,  yet  it  is  both  more  and  less  than 
an  enlarged  household.  It  is,  in  like  manner,  never  quite 
separated  from  the  horde,  since  practically  the  horde  as  a 

1  While  likenesses  of  language  do  not  always  indicate  identity  of  stock 
(ante,  pp.  253-254),  they  must  do  so  if  the  groups  exhibiting  them  have 
not  been  in  contact. 


276 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


component  of  the  tribe  is  nearly,  but  not  quite,  identical 
with  the  clan.  The  clan  subdivision  of  the  tribal  camp, 
regarded  as  a  local  subdivision,  always  contains  members 
of  other  clans. 

Within  the  tribe,  the  family  —  the  unitary  group  in 
social  composition  —  and  the  household  —  the  smallest 
purposive  association  in  the  social  constitution  —  become 
increasingly  definite  and  increasingly  coherent.  The  fam¬ 
ily  becomes  monogamous,  polyandrian,  or  polygynous,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  varying  success  of  the  household  organiza¬ 
tion  as  an  economic  association.  The  monogamous  form 
must  be  regarded  as  the  mean  type  between  two  extremes, 
from  which  there  may  be  variation  in  either  direction.1 
Extreme  poverty  entails  infanticide  and  polyandry.  For 
example,  in  Tibet,  the  land  of  polyandry,  it  is  in  the  impov¬ 
erished  sedentary  population  that  there  is  but  one  wife  for 
several  men.  The  relatively  well-to-do  nomads  are  monog¬ 
amous.2  Prosperity  fosters  polygyny.  Tribes  that  dwell 
in  regions  where  nature  offers  superabundant  supplies  of 
food,  like  central  Africa  and  Polynesia,  are  invariably 
polygynous.  Polygyny  has  been  the  practice  of  not  less 
than  forty  American  Indian  tribes.3 

Economic  activity  is  organized  in  the  household.  In 
the  metronymic  tribe  the  household  is  commonly  under 
the  direction  of  a  woman  whose  responsibilities  are  often 
great.  There  were  American  Indian  tribes  in  which  the 
family  of  woman,  husband,  and  children  lived  in  a  small 
wigwam  by  itself.  In  others,  however,  the  Indian  house¬ 
hold  consisted  of  from  five  to  twenty  families  occupying  a 
common  lodge,  or  long  house,  as  it  was  called  among  the 


1  Cf.  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  p.  459. 

2  Deniker,  Revue  d' anthropologie,  Vol.  VII.,  Series  II.,  1884,  p.  358. 
See  also  McLennan,  “Studies  in  Ancient  History,”  pp.  89  sq.,  and  Le- 
tournea,  “The  Evolution  of  Marriage,”  pp.  86  sq. 

8  See  Letourneau,  “  The  Evolution  of  Marriage,”  pp.  125  sq. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


277 


Iroquois.  Through  the  middle  of  the  long  house,  from  end 
to  end,  extended  a  passageway,  on  each  side  of  which 
apartments  were  partitioned  off,  one  for  each  family.  A 
row  of  fires,  built  on  the  ground,  occupied  the  middle  space, 
one  for  each  two  or  four  families.  Within  the  house  they 
lived  from  common  stores.  The  food  obtained  by  any  mem¬ 
ber  of  the  household  on  hunting  or  fishing  expeditions  and 
all  that  was  raised  by  cultivation  of  the  soil  was  made  a 
common  stock.1  Over  this  communal  household  a  matron 
presided,  looking  after  its  whole  domestic  economy,  organ¬ 
izing  and  superintending  its  labour.  First  of  all  it  was  her 
duty  to  see  that  the  squaws  cultivated  the  land  allotted  to 
the  household.  Says  Major  Powell,  speaking  of  the  Wyan- 
dottes :  “  The  heads  of  households  are  responsible  for  the 
cultivation  of  the  tract,  and  should  this  duty  be  neglected 
the  council  of  the  gens  calls  the  responsible  parties  to 
account.” 2  In  the  next  place  she  saw  that  the  bucks 
supplied  fish  and  game,  and  she  usually  had  no  trouble 
in  enforcing  her  orders.  “  It  was  woe  to  the  luckless  hus¬ 
band  or  lover  who  was  too  shiftless  to  do  his  share  of  the 
providing.  No  matter  how  many  children  or  whatever 
goods  he  might  have  in  the  house,  he  might  at  any  time 
be  ordered  to  pick  up  his  blanket  and  budge.”  Finally,  it 
was  the  matron’s  duty  to  look  after  the  distribution  of  the 
common  stores.  “  After  the  single  daily  meal  was  cooked 
at  the  several  fires,  the  matron  was  summoned,  and  it  was 
her  duty  to  divide  the  food,  from  the  kettle,  to  the  several 
families  according  to  their  respective  needs.”  3 

The  arrangements  here  described  were  those  of  well- 
organized  tribes  like  the  Senecas  and  the  Wyandottes,  but 
the  same  system,  with  slight  variations  of  detail,  was  found 

1  Morgan,  “Houses  and  House  Life  of  the  American  Aborigines,”  p.  64. 

2  Powell,  “Wyandotte  Government,”  “First  Annual  Report  of  the 
Bureau  of  Ethnology,”  1879-80. 

3  Morgan,  “  Houses  and  House  Life  of  the  American  Aborigines,” 
p.  65. 


278 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


among  all  tribes  but  the  very  lowest,  from  the  Columbia 
river  on  the  north  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  on  the  south. 
More  or  less  modified,  it  has  been  the  usual  system  of 
domestic  economy  in  metronymic  tribes. 

Step  by  step  with  the  family  tradition  and  with  the  eco¬ 
nomic  tradition  the  artistic  tradition  also  is  developed  in 
the  household.  Each  household  may  have  its  special  craft 
and  skill.  A  writer  on  the  social  life  of  Zuni  has  given  an 
interesting  example.  As  a  usual  thing,  each  family  makes 
its  own  pottery,  yet  in  different  families  differences  of 
workmanship  have  given  rise  to  specialties  in  production. 
“  One  household  had  a  special  reputation  for  making  fine 
ollas ,  another  for  small  ware,  another  for  figures  of  ani¬ 
mals,  and  one  woman  was  famed  for  making  very  nice  tur¬ 
tles.”  1  Differences  of  physical  strength  and  energy,  of 
mental  scope,  and  of  quickness  and  taste,  all  play  a  part 
in  this  specialization  of  skill,  which  at  a  later  time  becomes 
the  foundation  of  the  division  of  labour  by  vocations. 

A  general  oversight  of  the  households  of  a  metronymic 
tribe  is  exercised  by  the  clan.  It  is  the  clan  that  enforces 
rights  and  duties.  It  interprets  the  marriage  regulations 
and  the  rules  governing  adoption,  and  compels  families 
to  conform  to  them.  It  is  often  an  important  property¬ 
holding  group.  The  land  of  a  tribe  is  first  apportioned 
among  its  clans  and  is  then  by  the  clans  allotted  to  the 
several  households  for  purposes  of  cultivation. 

The  cultivation  of  each  household  tract  is  communal. 
Cooperation  takes  the  form  that  used  to  be  known  in  New 
England  and  elsewhere  as  the  bee.  In  the  early  days  of 
New  England  when  the  farmer  had  important  work  on 
hand,  such  as  a  raising  or  a  corn-husking,  his  wife  prepared 
an  abundance  of  good  things  to  eat  and  he  liberally  pro¬ 
vided  rum  or  cider.  Then  he  invited  his  neighbours  to 

1  Baxter,  “  The  Father  of  the  Pueblos,”  Harper's  Magazine,  VoL 
LXV.,  June,  1882,  p.  83. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


279 


lend  a  hand,  and  between  feasting  and  drinking  the  work 
was  done.  The  bee  was  the  earliest  form  of  direct  cooper¬ 
ation  on  a  considerable  scale  that  appeared  in  human  af¬ 
fairs.  It  was  the  means  by  which  all  large  enterprises 
were  achieved  among  the  American  aborigines.  The 
housemother  sent  her  brother  or  her  son  to  the  forest  for 
game  or  to  the  stream  for  fish.  She  then  invited  all  the 
able-bodied  women  of  the  clan  to  assist  in  sowing  or  in 
reaping  her  allotment  of  ground.  When  the  work  was 
done,  a  feast  was  given.1  The  occasional  work  of  the 
men  was  managed  as  field-cultivation  by  the  squaws.  By 
means  of  the  bee  the  men  built  the  larger  canoes,  provided 
the  heavier  material  for  the  houses,  built  the  tribal  council- 
house,  and  erected  the  stockade  about  the  village.  In 
house-building  men  and  women  worked  together ;  men  did 
the  heavier  preliminary  work  and  left  to  the  women  the 
lighter  details  of  completion.  All  work  that  engaged  the 
members  of  more  than  one  household  was  strictly  regulated 
by  the  clan. 

The  clan  regulates  also  the  indirect  cooperation  through 
trade.  The  North  American  Indians  were  inveterate 
traders.  Shells  and  shell  ornaments  which  must  have  been 
taken  there  from  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  have  been 
found  in  Wisconsin.  Red-pipe  stone  ornaments  and  pipes 
that  could  have  come  only  from  Minnesota  have  been  found 
in  New  Jersey.  Shell  beads  that  were  brought  from  the 
Pacific  coast  have  been  found  in  the  Mississippi  valley. 
Obsidian  arrowheads  from  Oregon  or  the  far  Southwest 
have  now  and  then  been  found  east  of  the  Alleghanies. 
Copper  weapons  and  implements  made  in  the  Lake  Supe¬ 
rior  region  have  been  found  in  several  eastern  states. 

Trade  has  its  origin  in  war  or  feud,  and  for  this  reason  it 
is  to  the  savage  mind  a  subject  for  public  regulation.  Fre¬ 
quent  seizures  of  weapons,  food,  and  useful  implements,  in 
the  days  before  tribes  were  organized,  made  each  horde 
1  Powell,  “  Wyandotte  Government.” 


280 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


familiar  with  the  products  of  distant  places  and  suggested 
the  advantages  of  exchange.  The  first  step  in  peaceful 
exchange  is  the  giving  of  presents,  an  act  that  grows 
directly  out  of  hostilities.  It  is  one  of  the  most  widely 
prevalent  customs  of  savage  communities.1  The  horde  or 
tribe  that  dreads  to  encounter  its  hostile  neighbour  in 
actual  combat  seeks  to  propitiate  it  by  sending  presents  of 
those  things  that  a  successful  enemy  would  seize.  The 
transition  from  this  form  of  propitiation  to  exchange  for 
its  own  sake  is  easy,  but  the  fiction  of  present-giving  is 
long  retained.  Articles  which  a  community  is  willing  to 
part  with  are  taken  to  some  spot  on  the  border  of  its  terri¬ 
tory  and  are  left  there  in  the  expectation  that  they  will  be 
taken  and  that  other  articles  will  be  left  in  their  place.2 
If  the  transaction  is  thought  to  be  of  some  importance, 
ambassadors  are  sent  with  the  goods.  The  negotiations 
that  then  take  place  are  but  a  disguised  combat.  The 
representatives  of  the  stronger  party  get  the  best  of  the 
bargain.  Their  barter  is  partly  trade  and  partly  plunder. 
The  barter  of  the  weaker  party  is  partly  trade  and  partly 
tribute. 

These  primitive  forms  of  trade  were  doubtless  often 
practised  by  clan-hordes  before  they  were  combined  in 
tribes.  Simple  hordes  trade  in  such  ways  now.  Conse1 
quently  after  tribes  were  formed,  trade  between  clans  of 
the  same  tribe  may  have  continued.  Trade  between  the 
different  clans  of  an  American  Indian  tribe  was,  in  fact, 
a  common  practice.3  When  in  these  ways  the  habit  of 
barter  had  been  formed,  trade  between  households  and 
individuals  of  the  same  clan  was  sure  to  follow.  Much  in- 

1  Cf.  Spencer,  “  The  Principles  of  Sociology,”  Part  IV.,  Chap.  IV. 

2  Tennent,  “Ceylon,”  Vol.  II.,  p. 440;  Knox,  “  An  Historical  Relation 
of  the  Island  Ceylon,”  p.  123  ;  and  Lander,  “  Journal  of  an  Expedition  to 
Explore  the  Course  and  Termination  of  the  Niger,”  Vol.  III.,  p.  161.  Cf. 
also  Maine,  “Village  Communities,”  pp.  191-193.  • 

3  Dorsey,  “Osage  Traditions,”  “  Sixth  Annual  Report  of  the  Bureau 
of  Ethnology,”  1884-85,  p.  379. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


281 


dividual  trading  has  always  existed  in  metronymic  tribes. 
The  clan  becomes  the  chief  regulator  of  all  trading  transac¬ 
tions  ;  naturally,  because  it  has  always  been  itself  to  some 
extent  a  trader ;  and  necessarily,  because  it  has  jurisdiction 
over  all  personal  relations. 

Besides  enforcing  the  customary  rules  of  marriage  and 
adoption,  apportioning  land,  and  regulating  communal 
industry  and  trade,  the  clan  interposes  its  authority  in  all 
serious  personal  quarrels  and  in  feuds.  Private  vengeance 
within  the  clan  it  does  not  tolerate.  Vengeance  upon  an 
offender  of  some  other  clan  it  often  encourages.  Some¬ 
times,  however,  the  exact  terms  upon  which  a  feud  shall 
be  terminated  are  amicably  arranged  between  two  clans. 

If  there  are  no  phratries,  the  clan  adds  to  all  these  func¬ 
tions  the  direction  of  common  amusements  and  religious 
observances. 

Thus  in  the  clan  a  distinct,  differentiated,  and  important 
juridical  tradition  is  evolved.  To  a  great  extent  the  in¬ 
terpretation  of  this  tradition  is  made  by  the  sachems,  who 
are  usually  chosen  on  account  of  their  age  and  superior 
wisdom.  In  the  course  of  time,  therefore,  the  sachems 
become  a  quasi-juridical  class. 

In  the  evolution  of  the  metronymic  tribe  it  sometimes 
happens  that  a  clan,  becoming  large  and  unwieldy,  divides 
into  sub-clans.  Presently  the  sub-clans  become  independ¬ 
ent  clans.  In  such  a  case  they  call  themselves  brother- 
clans,  and  bind  themselves  together  as  a  phratry.  The 
phratry  then  becomes  the  representative  of  all  those  in¬ 
terests  of  the  original  clan  that  continue  to  be  common 
interests  of  the  new  clans.  For  a  long  time  marriage 
continues  to  be  forbidden  between  members  of  the  same 
phratry,  although  they  may  now  be  of  different  clans. 
This  prohibition,  however,  gradually  disappears.  Leaving 
to  the  clan  most  of  its  original  jurisdiction  and  activities, 
the  phratry  develops  social  and  religious  functions,  and 


282 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


the  superior  juristic  function  of  jurisdiction  in  capital 

cases. 

When  a  tribe  has  two  or  more  phratries,  they  generally 
play  against  one  another  in  their  sports,  and  bet  against 
each  other  upon  the  results  of  the  game.  In  the  Seneca 
Iroquois  tribe  there  were  two  phratries.  In  their  ball 
games  each  put  forward  its  six  or  ten  best  men.  Before 
the  game  commenced,  articles  of  personal  property  were 
put  up  by  members  of  the  contending  phratries  assembled 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  field.  The  stakes  were  deposited 
with  keepers;  the  game  was  played  with  spirit  and  was 
watched  with  eagerness.1 

When  a  murder  has  been  committed,  the  clan  of  the 
victim  meets  in  council  and  takes  measures  to  avenge 
the  deed.  The  clan  of  the  criminal  also  holds  a  council 
and  tries  to  bring  about  a  condonation  of  the  crime.  If, 
however,  the  slayer  and  the  slain  belong  to  different 
phratries  as  well  as  to  different  clans,  the  clan  of  the 
criminal  may  call  upon  its  brother-clans  to  assist  in  bring¬ 
ing  about  the  condonation.  In  this  case  the  final  negotia¬ 
tions  take  place  between  phratries.2 

As  the  special  guardian  of  the  religious  tradition,  the 
phratry  bears  an  important  part  in  the  funerals  of  dis¬ 
tinguished  members  of  the  tribe.  In  the  Seneca  tribe 
“the  phrators  of  the  decedent  in  a  body  were  the  mourners, 
and  the  members  of  the  opposite  phratry  conducted  the 
ceremonies.”  3  It  is  in  direct  connection  with  the  orgrani- 
zation  of  the  phratry  and  by  its  authority  that  the  religious 
secret  societies  and  medicine  lodges  are  organized.  The 
medicine  men  of  the  phratry  became  a  differentiated 
religious  class. 

While  thus  the  household  is  essentially  an  economic 

1  Morgan,  “  League  of  the  Iroquois,”  p.  294. 

2  Morgan,  “Ancient  Society,”  p.  94. 

8  Ibid.,  pp.  95,  96. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


283 


organization,  the  clan  essentially  a  juridical  organization, 
and  the  phratry  essentially  a  religions  organization,  the 
tribe  is  a  military  organization.  It  has  been  formed  for 
military  purposes ;  the  consolidation  of  clan-hordes  has 
been  in  most  cases  a  result  of  conflict.  When  tribes  so 
formed  are  organized  by  clans  and  phratries,  their  conflicts 
assume  the  character  of  war. 

The  military  organization  of  the  tribe  grows  directly 
out  of  primitive  modes  of  conflict  and  is  well  adapted  to 
develop  individual  valour  and  successful  leadership.  In¬ 
dividual  initiative  is  carefully  preserved.  In  the  Indian 
tribe  any  brave  might  call  for  volunteers  from  among 
his  clansmen  to  follow  him  on  the  war-path.  He  an¬ 
nounced  his  project  by  giving  a  war-dance.  “  If  he 
succeeded  in  forming  a  company,  which  would  consist 
of  such  persons  as  joined  him  in  the  dance,  they  departed 
immediately,  while  enthusiasm  was  at  its  height.”  1  If 
the  expedition  was  successful,  its  leader  might  hope1' to  be 
invested  with  dignity  as  a  war  chief  of  his  clan.  The 
war .  party  was  thus  a  voluntary  purposive  association 
within  the  clan,  as  the  secret  religious  society  was  within 
the  phratry. 

Together  the  war  chiefs  of  the  clans  constitute  another 
very  important  purposive  association,  —  the  council  of  the 
tribe.  In  some  tribes  the  council  elects  a  head  chief.  The 
council  is  not  a  governing  body  in  the  usual  sense  of 
the  term.  It  does  not  attempt  to  interfere  in  the  affairs 
of  the  clan  or  the  phratry.  Its  concern  is  with  the  rela¬ 
tions  of  the  tribe  to  other  tribes  and  with  all  military 
plans.  In  these  it  is  supreme.  Within  the  council  of  the 
tribe,  therefore,  a  military  tradition  is  developed. 

Thus  the  metronymic  tribe  has  a  very  well  organized 
constitution,  which,  however,  is  not  wholly  differentiated 
from  the  social  composition.  In  fact,  it  is  but  incidental 
and  subordinate  to  the  social  composition.  The  heads  of 
1  Morgan,  “Ancient  Society,”  pp.  117,  118. 


284 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


households  and  the  sachems  of  clans  are  representatives 
of  the  kinship  idea.  Other  functionaries  are  in  one  way 
or  another  closely  identified  with  the  metronymic  bond. 
Finally,  the  tribal  constitution  that  has  been  described 
prepares  the  tribe  to  become  a  component  in  a  larger 
aggregate, — the  folk.  It  makes  possible  the  next  step  in 
composition. 

Tribes  enlarging  in  numbers  may  subdivide.  In  such 
cases  members  of  each  clan  are  assigned  to  each  new  tribe. 
The  same  clans,  therefore,  run  through  all  the  tribes.1 
Thus  bound  together  by  clan  lines,  speaking  dialects  of 
one  language,  and  preserving  a  tradition  of  a  common 
lineage,  such  tribes  become  an  enatic  or  metronymic  folk 
through  a  further  development  of  the  social  mind. 

The  social  memory  and  perception,  already  developed  in 
earlier  stages  of  social  evolution,  grow  into  social  reason 
and  self-consciousness.  The  relations  of  tribes  and  clans 
become  a  subject  of  deliberate  reflection.  Coordination 
has  been  hitherto  through  accident,  imitation,  habit,  and 
leadership.  The  possibility  of  a  further  coordination 
through  rational  comprehension,  arrived  at  through  dis¬ 
cussion,  is  perceived.  When,  therefore,  the  ethnic  and 
linguistic  unity  of  several  tribes  is  thus  supplemented  by  a 
self-conscious  psychic  unity,  the  conditions  are  ready  for 
the  next  great  step  in  social  composition,  and  also  for  a 
further  evolution  of  the  social  constitution. 

Having  common  enemies  of  different  ethnic  stocks,  these 
tribes  may  form  a  great  military-political  purposive  asso¬ 
ciation,  a  confederation.2  The  head  chiefs  of  tribes  may 
become  the  council  of  the  confederacy,  or  the  latter  may 
include  lesser  chieftains  elected  by  the  clans  of  the  tribes. 
The  confederacy  may  have  also  an  elected  head  chief  or 
chiefs. 

1  Morgan,  “Ancient  Society,”  pp.  133,  134. 

*  Ibid.,  pp.  122  sq. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


285 


Within  the  council  of  the  confederacy,  and,  more  gen¬ 
erally,  in  the  confederacy,  sovereignty  arises  and  the  true 
political  tradition  is  evolved. 

For  the  object  of  the  confederation  is  twofold.  It  is 
first,  undoubtedly,  to  create  a  more  extensive  organization 
for  military  defence  and  aggression.  Another  object,  how¬ 
ever,  is  quite  as  important.  It  is  seen  that  hostilities  be¬ 
tween  related  tribes  are  a  dissipation  of  strength  that 
should  be  saved  for  resistance  to  common  enemies.  At  an 
earlier  time,  individual  vengeance  has  been  a  source  of 
weakness  in  clan-horde  and  tribe.  This  has  been  pre¬ 
vented  in  a  good  degree  by  the  growth  of  juridical  customs 
in  the  clan.  It  is  now  perceived  that  the  juristic  means 
of  dealing  with  conflicting  interests  might  be  extended,  on 
the  basis  of  clanship  relations,  to  the  disputes  arising 
between  tribes.  The  attempt  to  accomplish  such  an  exten¬ 
sion  simultaneously  with  social  and  military  consolidation 
is  the  beginning  of  political  action,  which  may  be  defined 
as  the  combination  of  juristic  and  military  functions,  in¬ 
ternal  regulation  and  external  adjustment,  under  one  au¬ 
thority.  The  assumption  of  authority  over  military  and 
civil  affairs,  the  conversion  of  customary  into  positive  law, 
and  the  extension  of  the  sphere  and  application  of  legal 
rules  by  the  self-conscious  social  reason  is  the  beginning 
of  sovereignty. 

A  change  from  metronymic  to  patronymic  relationship 
and  social  organization  may  occur  at  any  stage  in  social 
evolution.  It  may  take  place  in  horde-clans,  or  it  may 
not  be  completed  until  after  the  organization  of  the  met¬ 
ronymic  folk  by  confederation. 

The  first  step  in  the  transition  seems  to  be  the  practice 
of  obtaining  wives  by  capture.  So  long  as  husbands  live 
with  their  wives’  kindred,  in  beena  marriage,  children  are 
naturally  claimed  by  the  mother-clan  and  take  its  name. 
Quite  as  naturally  the  children  of  a  captured  wife  belong 


286 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


to  the  kin  of  the  father  as  long  as  he  chooses  to  keep  them 
and  their  mother,  and  if  he  cares  enough  for  them  to  hold 
them  as  his  property  until  their  maturity,  they  take  his 
name.  This  direct  relation  between  patronymic  kinship 
and  marriage  by  capture  is  recognized  by  all  writers. 
Professor  Tylor 1  has  described  communities  in  which  the 
transition  from  the  metronymic  to  the  patronymic  system 
is  now  taking  place  under  the  influence  of  capture.  In 
some  of  the  Malayan  tribes  of  the  Babar  archipelago  “  the 
men  usually  follow  the  women  and  live  in  their  houses, 
and  the  children  belong  to  the  wife’s  family.  A  man  may 
marry  as  many  as  seven  wives,  who  all  remain  in  the  houses 
of  their  kindred.  But  sometimes  wives  are  obtained  by 
robbery,  and  are  carried  off  to  their  husband’s  clans.  The 
children  then  follow  the  father  and  take  the  father’s  name. 
In  the  Kisar  and  Wetar  islands  also,  the  maternal  system 
prevails,  but  it  is  passing  into  the  paternal  system  by  capt¬ 
ure,  which  brings  wife  and  children  under  the  husband’s 
control.”  2 

A  similar  state  of  things  formerly  existed  in  Arabia  and 
is  described  by  Robertson  Smith.  The  earlier  marriages 
of  the  desert  tribes  were  beena  or  moPa  arrangements. 
MoPa  marriage  was  a  temporary  connection  in  which  the 
woman  entertained  her  suitor  in  her  own  domicile  as  long 
as  she  liked  and  then  dismissed  him,  to  take  another,  all 
with  the  acquiescence  of  her  kinsmen,  and  without  loss  of 
reputation.  Beena  and  moPa  marriages  were  gradually 
superseded  by  ba'-al  marriages,  in  which,  as  the  name  signi¬ 
fies,  the  husband  was  the  woman’s  lord  or  owner.  Ba'-al 
marriages  originated  in  capture.  “  There  is,”  says  Smith, 
“  abundant  evidence  that  the  ancient  Arabs  practised  mar¬ 
riage  by  capture.  And  we  see  that  the  type  of  marriage 
so  constituted  is  altogether  different  from  those  unions 

1  Tylor,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute ,  Yol.  XVIII.,  p.  261. 

2  Riedel,  “  De  sluik-  en  kroesharige  rassen  tusschen  Selebes  ec  Papua,” 
p.  351,  and  cf.  pp.  415,  448. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


287 


of  which  the  moVa  is  a  survival,  and  kinship  through 
women  the  necessary  accompaniment.  In  the  one  case 
the  woman  chooses  and  dismisses  her  husband  at  will,  in 
the  other  she  has  lost  the  right  to  dispose  of  her  person 
and  so  the  right  of  divorce  lies  only  with  the  husband ;  in 
the  one  case  the  woman  receives  the  husband  in  her  own 
tent,  among  her  own  people,  in  the  other  she  is  brought 
home  to  his  tent  and  people ;  in  the  one  case  the  children 
are  brought  up  under  the  protection  of  the  mother’s  kin 
and  are  of  her  blood,  in  the  other  they  remain  with  the 
father’s  kin  and  are  of  his  blood.” 1 

Separation  of  husband  and  wife  from  the  kindred  of  the 
wife,  if  brought  about  in  some  other  way  than  by  wife  capt¬ 
ure,  may  nevertheless  have  the  same  consequences.  Major 
Powell,  writing  of  actual  instances  of  change  from  metro¬ 
nymic  to  patronymic  kinship  among  the  American  Indians, 
says :  “  It  would  seem  from  such  opportunities  as  I  have 
had  to  collect  facts  in  the  field  that  hunting  and  other  par¬ 
ties  are  frequently  organized  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
male  members  of  a  clan-group  proceed  together  in  com¬ 
pany  with  their  wives  and  children.  Under  such  circum¬ 
stances  the  control  of  the  family  necessarily  falls  into  the 
hands  of  the  husbands  and  fathers.  This  happens  among 
Pueblo  Indians,  a  matriarchal  people  with  female  descent 
whose  clans,  in  consequence  of  the  scarcity  of  water  for  irri¬ 
gation  in  their  desert  region,  are  obliged  to  separate  widely 
for  the  cultivation  of  lands  at  a  distance  from  the  central 
pueblo.  The  result  is  that  the  control  of  families  and  the 
training  of  children  are  temporarily  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  their  own  kin  on  the  mother’s  side,  and  with  the  acqui¬ 
sition  of  cattle  in  these  new  homes  comes  the  tendency  to 
settle  there  permanently.”  2 

Neither  marriage  by  capture,  however,  nor  any  other  sep- 

1  “  Kinship  and  Marriage  in  Early  Arabia,”  pp.  74,  75. 

2  Letter  quoted  by  Tylor,  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute, 
Vol.  XVIII.,  February,  1889,  p.  258. 


288 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


aration  of  the  wife  and  husband  from  the  wife’s  kindred, 
can  of  itself  effect  the  change  of  kinship.  It  is  necessar}' 
that  the  husband  shall  not  only  get  possession  of  his  wife 
and  her  children,  but  also  keep  possession  of  them.  If  he 
abandons  them  or  sends  them  back  to  the  mother-clan,  no 
patronymic  kinship  can  be  established.  Therefore,  besides 
the  mere  capture  of  the  wife,  a  motive  for  keeping  her  and 
for  retaining  possession  of  her  children  is  necessary.  This 
motive  may  come  into  existence  at  an  early  stage  in  social 
evolution  if  the  horde  is  intelligent  enough  to  foresee  the 
advantage  of  strengthening  its  fighting  force  by  rearing 
boys.  In  the  stage  of  tribal  organization  when  war  is 
more  systematic  and  the  labour  of  women  in  field  cultiva¬ 
tion  is  useful,  captured  women  and  their  children  may  be 
so  valuable  to  the  tribe  that  a  man’s  kinsmen  may  put 
pressure  on  him  to  retain  possession  of  a  family  that  he 
has  tired  of  and  would  turn  away.  The  motive  to  retain 
possession  of  offspring  attains  its  maximum  strength,  how¬ 
ever,  only  with  the  appearance  of  forms  of  industry  that 
engage  the  interest  and  effort  of  men  and  are  taken  pos¬ 
session  of  by  them.  Such  industries  give  value  to  the 
labour  of  sons.  Under  favouring  circumstances,  therefore, 
men  who  find  that  their  industrial  functions  have  become 
more  important  than  those  of  the  women  naturally  assert 
ownership  over  the  largest  possible  number  of  able-bodied 
assistants.  This  may  happen  in  the  hunting  stage  if  the 
hunting  is  arduous.  In  most  parts  of  the  world,  however, 
it  has  followed  the  domestication  of  animals.  Affording 
a  food-supply  immeasurably  superior  to  any  before  known 
and  an  opportunity  to  accumulate  wealth,  herding  becomes 
an  industry  important  enough  to  awaken  the  masculine 
ambition.  The  desire  is  born  to  multiply  herds  and  herds¬ 
men  and  to  transmit  property  to  sons. 

As  the  value  of  women  and  children  increases,  and  as 
industry  in  some  measure  diverts  attention  from  war,  mar¬ 
riage  by  purchase  gradually  succeeds  marriage  by  capture. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


289 


Purchase  gives  the  husband  even  greater  authority  over 
the  wife  than  he  secures  by  capture,  since  his  right  to  a 
purchased  wife  cannot  be  denied  by  her  kinsmen.  They 
wholly  surrender  her  and  she  can  cherish  no  hope  of  res¬ 
toration  to  them.  In  parts  of  Africa  “Families  are  more 
or  less  willing  —  for  value  received  —  to  give  a  man  a 
wife  to  take,  or  let  him  take  his  beenah  wife,  to  his  own 
people.  The*  contract,  in  this  case,  usually  transfers  to 
the  husband  the  woman  and  her  offspring ;  it  is  this  which 
is  bargained  for ;  and  where  this  has  not  been  bought  and 
paid  for,  even  when  the  woman  has  been  allowed  to  live 
with  the  husband  in  his  own  village,  we  find  that  the  chil¬ 
dren  may  be  claimed  by  her  family.  If  payment  has  not 
been  made,  the  woman’s  family  have  not,  to  use  the  cur¬ 
rent  phrase,  ‘given  her  up.’  Here  a  contract  which  car¬ 
ries  away  children,  with  their  mother,  from  the  mother’s 
family  is  seen  to  be  the  sole  basis  of  the  father’s  right  to 
his  children.”  1 

The  husband’s  authority  is  further  increased  by  religion. 
It  often  happens  that  the  totemic  beliefs  of  metronymic 
tribal  communities  present  a  serious  obstacle  to  the  plan  of 
descent  through  fathers.  Children  belong  by  birth  to  the 
totem  of  the  mother.  The  totems  of  mother  and  father 
may  be  hostile,  and  to  count  children  as  socially  of  the  clan 
of  the  father  while  they  are  religiously  of  the  clan  of  the 
mother  is  to  create  a  confusion  intolerable  to  the  savage 
mind.  By  the  expedient  of  adopting  the  captured  or  pur¬ 
chased  wife  into  the  clan  and  totem  of  the  husband,  the 
difficulty  is  overcome.  Children  are  then  in  every  sense 
of  the  kindred  of  the  father.  Among  the  Guinea  negroes, 
who  are  now  in  a  state  of  transition  from  metronymic  to 
patronymic  kinship,  a  chief’s  principal  wife  and  her  chil¬ 
dren  must  be  of  the  clan  and  totem  of  her  kinsman  by 
blood,  but  the  husband  may  purchase  a  slave  or  a  friendless 
girl  and  by  consecrating  her  to  his  bossum,  or  god,  may 

1  McLennan,  “The  Patriarchal  Theory,”  p.  320. 
u 


290 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


make  her  of  his  kin  and  faith.  The  bossum  wife  and  her 
children  are  under  the  husband’s  control,  and  it  is  the 
bossum  wife  who  is  sacrificed  at  the  chief’s  death,  that  her 
spirit  may  follow  his.1 

Finally,  the  wandering  life  and  the  comparative  isola¬ 
tion  of  the  herdsman’s  family,  which  separate  him  not  only 
from  the  wife’s  kindred,  but  for  long  periods  also  from  his 
own  kindred,  are  favourable  to  the  complete  establishment 
of  the  father’s  power  over  his  small  community. 

Paternal  authority  has  momentous  reactions  upon  relig¬ 
ion.  Animals  and  plants  of  mysterious  powers,  forces  of 
nature,  and  the  spirits  of  departed  men  have  all  been  wor¬ 
shipped.  Some  of  these  have  seemed  to  bring  better  luck 
than  others,  and,  through  a  selective  process,  such  have 
become  tribal  deities.2  Clansmen  have  always  believed 
that  they  are  descended  from  their  totemic  gods.  When, 
therefore,  descent  begins  to  be  reckoned  through  males, 
changes  in  the  religious  system  are  inevitable.  The  male 
head  of  a  family  group  is  now  the  type  of  authority  and 
power.  So  regarded  in  life,  he  is  so  regarded  also  in 
death.  While  the  household  may  continue  to  regard 
natural  objects  and  forces  and  miscellaneous  spirits  with 
superstitious  feelings,  they  entertain  for  the  soul  of  the 
departed  founder  of  the  house  the  stronger  feeling  of 
veneration.  They  think  of  the  ancestral  spirit  as  their 
protector  in  the  land  of  shades.  To  the  ancestral  spirit, 
therefore,  they  pay  their  principal  devotions.  Thus  with¬ 
out  entirely  displacing  other  religious  observances,  an¬ 
cestor-worship  necessarily  becomes  the  dominant  faith. 

Ancestor-worship  is  still  the  household  cult  of  China 
and  Japan.  Many  traces  of  it  remain  in  the  desert  tribes 
of  Arabia.  All  of  the  historical  Semitic  peoples  were 

1  McLennan,  “The  Patriarchal  Theory,”  pp.  235,  236. 

2  See  Payne,  “History  of  the  New  World  called  America,”  pp. 
389  sq. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


291 


ancestor-worshippers  in  their  days  of  tribal  organization.1 
The  Aryans  were  ancestor-worshippers  when  they  first 
appeared  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  among 
the  Romans  this  religion  of  the  household  hearth  dis¬ 
appeared  only  with  the  triumph  of  Christianity. 

The  Aryan  worship  of  the  dead  was  a  simple  and 
beautiful  piety.2  It  was  believed  that  the  soul  had  need 
of  a  dwelling-place  and  of  food  and  drink.  The  soul 
that  had  no  tomb  must  wander  forever  as  a  homeless 
spirit,  and  instead  of  being  a  protecting  power  it  must 
become  a  malevolent  ghost.  To  secure  its  repose  its 
body  must  be  reverently  buried.  Wine  must  be  poured 
and  food  placed  upon  the  tomb.  “  I  pour  upon  the  earth 
of  the  tomb,”  says  Iphigenia,  “the  milk  of  mountain 
heifers,  libations  of  wine,  and  the  honey  of  yellow  bees ; 
for  it  is  with  these  that  we  rejoice  the  dead.”3  The 
family  tomb  was  generally  near  the  house  and  not  far 
from  the  door,  that  the  sons,  when  they  entered,  and  when 
they  left  their  dwelling  might  always  meet  their  fathers, 
and  might  always  address  them  an  invocation.4  Within 
the  house  was  the  altar,  on  which  burned  the  sacred  fire. 
It  was  supposed  to  be  frequented  by  the  spirits  of  the 
household  dead,  and  there,  as  at  the  tomb,  libations  were 
poured  and  offerings  of  food  were  burned.  The  fire  was 
extinguished  only  when  the  entire  family  had  perished. 

Ancestor-worship  reacts  upon  domestic  life  and  upon 
the  structure  of  clan  and  tribe.  The  family,  rich  in 
flocks  and  herds,  becoming  more  and  more  conscious  of  the 
importance  of  property,  and  believing  intensely  in  its 
ancestral  faith,  becomes  a  religious-proprietary  family. 
Marriage  is  arranged  with  reference  to  the  transmission 

1  See  Robertson  Smith,  “The  Religion  of  the  Semites.” 

2  See  Fustel  de  Coulanges,  “  The  Ancient  City,”  Book  I. 

8  Euripides,  “  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,”  162. 

‘Ibid.,  “Helena,”  1162-1168. 


292 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  property  and  of  the  priestly  office  to  sons,  and  to  the 
preservation  of  the  integrity  and  continuity  of  the  family 
group.  None  but  a  son  can  properly  perform  the  rites  of 
the  ancestral  tomb.  Therefore,  if  a  man  hopes  to  pass  an 
unperturbed  existence  in  the  spirit  world,  after  the  cares 
of  life  are  over,  he  must  make  sure  of  legitimate  male 
offspring.  Adultery,  which  might  have  been  condoned 
in  the  metronymic  family,  has  now  become  an  offence  not 
only  against  the  husband,  but  also  against  the  entire 
family  community,  living  and  dead,  against  the  social 
order,  and  the  gods,  —  a  crime  and  a  sin.  Barrenness, 
which  might  have  been  regarded  as  a  blessing  in  a  half- 
famished  polyandrian  horde,  has  become  the  most  terrible 
of  misfortunes,  since  it  brings  to  an  end  not  only  the 
family  but  also  the  religious  rites.  The  faithless  conduct 
of  a  son  also  may  be  fatal  to  all  the  household  interests. 

These  considerations  cannot  fail  to  confirm,  with  all 
the  sanctions  of  religion,  the  authority  of  the  father,  and 
to  establish  the  solidarity  of  the  household  group.  It  is 
but  a  natural  consequence  of  them  all  that  the  father  has 
the  power  of  life  and  death  over  wife  and  children,  that 
he  can  divorce  the  wife  at  will,  or,  if  she  fail  to  bear 
sons,  can  take  a  second  wife.  Naturally  also  the  paternal 
authority  is  asserted  to  arrange  the  marriages  of  sons. 

These  changes  in  family  organization  carry  correspond¬ 
ing  changes  into  the  clan.  The  jural  tradition  becomes 
agnatic.  Ancestor-worship  also  gives  a  more  distinctly 
religious  character  to  the  clan.  The  gentiles  preserve  the 
tradition  of  the  worship  of  their  eponymous  ancestor,  they 
maintain  his  tomb,  and  unite  there  in  periodical  sacrifices. 
Under  the  influence  of  male  descent  and  ancestor  worship 
clan  headships  and  tribal  chieftainships  tend  to  become 
hereditary  in  certain  families.  In  metronymic  society 
the  office  that  cannot  descend  to  a  son  often  descends  to 
a  nephew,  whom  the  electors  prefer  to  any  other  candi¬ 
date  on  account  of  his  relationship  to  one  who  was  sue* 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


293 


cessful  as  councillor  or  leader.  In  the  ancestor-worshipping 
patronymic  group  there  always  is  a  strong  belief  that  the 
son  of  a  great  man  is  his  most  suitable  successor  in  office, 
because  it  is  thought  that  the  spirit  of  the  father  watches 
over  the  son’s  doings  and  aids  him  with  supernatural 
guidance. 

All  these  changes  are  favourable  to  social  integration. 
Descent  through  fathers  tends  to  bring  about  a  close 
identification  of  the  clan  with  the  horde  or  village,  be¬ 
cause  the  wife  follows  the  residence  of  the  husband. 
All  the  men  of  a  village  may  be  of  one  clan  and  all 
clansmen  may  dwell  together  in  one  village.  Hereditary 
chieftaincy  is  favourable  to  authority,  and  the  religious 
system  of  ancestor-worship  unites  not  only  the  living,  but 
also  the  living  and  the  dead,  in  a  perfect  continuity  of 
tradition  and  custom. 

The  patronymic  tribe  in  which  chieftainship  has  become 
hereditary  soon  begins  to  undergo  changes  of  organization. 
The  bond  of  personal  allegiance  is  strengthened;  the  bond 
of  kinship  is  weakened.  At  any  given  moment  the  change 
may  be  imperceptible,  but,  in  the  course  of  time,  it  is  dis¬ 
covered  that  the  tribal  system  has  become  strangely  modi¬ 
fied  by  a  barbaric  feudalism. 

Rank  and  dignity,  even  when  conferred  by  the  suffrages 
of  kindred  or  of  political  equals,  are  almost  always  asso¬ 
ciated,  as  effect  or  as  cause,  with  wealth.  The  successful 
chieftain  receives  from  his  followers  a  large  share  of  the 
booty  of  conquest.  With  the  riches  thus  obtained  he  binds 
to  himself  those  followers  who  will  most  faithfully  minister 
to  his  ambitions.  Here  are  the  primitive  forms  of  commen- 
datio  and  beneficium. 

So  long  as  wealth  consists  only  of  implements  and 
weapons,  game,  skins,  small  stores  of  grain,  baskets  and 
beads,  and  so  long  as  relationships  are  metronymic,  a  chief¬ 
tain’s  wealth,  though  it  may  be  relatively  large,  can  hardly 


294 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


become  a  source  of  formidable  power.  When,  however,  a 
tribe  has  become  rich  in  cattle,  and  masculine  power  has 
become  firmly  established  through  patronymic  kinship  and 
ancestor-worship,  the  case  is  wholly  different.  Under 
these  circumstances  clan  and  tribal  chieftains  are  often 
descendants  of  chieftains.  The  families  in  which  the  blood 
of  distinguished  chieftains  runs  are  already  looked  upon 
as  noble  and  society  is  cleaving  into  ranks.  The  chief  in¬ 
herits  his  father’s  herds.  On  every  ceremonial  occasion  he 
receives  presents  of  cattle  from  the  tribe.  He  levies  fines 
and  confiscations,  which  are  paid  in  kine.  At  every  oppor¬ 
tunity  he  organizes  excursions  to  steal  cattle  from  neigh¬ 
bouring  tribes.  Among  privileges  he  obtains  from  the 
tribesmen  the  right  to  pasture  his  increasing  herds  on  the 
outlying  border  of  the  tribal  domain.  Judged  by  barbarian 
standards,  his  wealth  is  vast,  and  the  disparity  between  his 
estate  and  that  of  a  simple  tribesman  becomes  ever  greater. 
Dispensing  favours  and  enriching  favourites,  he  is  soon 
able  to  control  formidable  bands  of  retainers.  Exactly 
this  condition  of  affairs  may  be  witnessed  at  the  present 
time  among  the  Kaffirs  of  South  Africa.  The  retainers 
of  a  Kaffir  chief  serve  him  for  cattle.  “  His  retinue,  court, 
or  whatever  it  is  to  be  called,  consists  of  men  from  all  parts 
of  the  tribe,  the  young,  the  clever,  and  the  brave,  who 
come  to  do  court  service  for  a  time,  that  they  may  obtain 
cattle  to  furnish  them  with  the  means  of  procuring  wives, 
arms,  or  other  objects  of  desire.” 1 

The  successive  steps  by  which  feudal  relations  are  cre¬ 
ated  in  patronymic  tribal  society  are  clearly  shown  in  that 
remarkable  body  of  ancient  law,  the  Brehon  law  of  Ireland. 

At  the  earliest  period  which  the  Brehon  laws  disclose 
the  power  of  the  tribal  chiefs  is  rapidly  growing,  and  a 
chief  is  before  all  things  else  a  rich  man.2  His  wealth  is 

1  Dugmore,  “Compendium  of  Kaffir  Laws  and  Customs,”  p.  27, 
quoted  by  Maine,  “  Early  History  of  Institutions,”  p.  143. 

2  “Early  History  of  Institutions,”  p.  133. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


295 


not  in  land,  but  in  sheep  and  cattle.  The  Brehon  law 
tract  called  Cain-Aigillne  prescribes  that  the  head  of  a 
tribe  shall  be,  among  other  things,  “  the  most  wealthy,” 
“  the  most  powerful  to  oppose,  the  most  steadfast  to  sue 
for  profits  and  to  be  sued  for  losses.” 1 

These  laws  further  show  that  through  the  acquisition 
of  wealth  the  way  to  chieftainship  is  always  open.  The 
wealthy  freeman  who  is  striving  to  become  a  chief  is 
called  a  bo-aire  or  cow-nobleman.  “  He  is,  to  begin  with, 
simply  a  peasant  who  has  grown  rich  in  cattle,  probably 
through  obtaining  the  use  of  large  portions  of  tribe 
land.”  2 

Service  of  the  chief  is  the  first  step  towards  such  posses¬ 
sions.  As  companions  and  personal  followers  of  a  chief 
already  wealthy  in  herds,  the  bo-aires  receive  portions  of 
his  stock.  The  chief  also  extends  his  right  of  pasturage 
in  the  outlying  waste  to  his  retainers,  whose  own  herds 
rapidly  increase  in  numbers. 

One  other  element  necessary  to  the  growth  of  their 
power  is  a  large  number  of  men  whom  the  bo-aires  them¬ 
selves  can  secure  as  dependents.  These  are  at  hand  in  the 
broken  or  ruined  men  who  are  known  in  every  Irish  tribe 
as  fuidhuirs. 

At  first  the  class  of  fuidhuirs  is  composed  of  outcasts 
from  the  clans,  men  who  have  sinned  against  tribal  custom, 
and  who  can  no  longer  claim  the  protection  of  their  kins¬ 
men.  The  numbers  of  the  fuidhuirs  are  multiplied,  how¬ 
ever,  by  inter-tribal  wars,  whereby .  tribes  are  broken  up 
and  scattered.  Such  ruined  men  the  bo-aire  easily  gathers 
about  him  on  the  tribal  waste  land  as  a  band  of  lawless 
cow-boys,  ready  at  any  moment  to  follow  him  on  marauding 
expeditions.  The  final  step  is  to  use  these  lawless  bands 
in  committing  depredations  on  weaker  tribes  and  in  stealing 
their  cattle.  Deprived  of  all  possessions,  conquered  tribes 

1  “Early  History  of  Institutions,”  p.  134. 

*  Ibid.,  p.  135. 


296 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


can  then  subsist  only  by  borrowing  stock  back  from  the 
arrogant  cow-noblemen,  who  thus  become  receivers  of 

O 

regular  tributes  and  rents. 

Thus,  from  the  moment  that  wealth  becomes  an  important 
social  element  its  tendency  to  differentiate  the  tribal  popu¬ 
lation  is  manifest.  All  historical  peoples  probably  passed 
through  the  stage  of  rude  feudalism  which  the  Brehon 
laws  describe.1  It  is  disclosed  in  the  pages  of  the  “  Odys¬ 
sey”  as  the  social  order  of  the  Greeks  of  the  Homeric  period. 
Tacitus  witnessed  its  beginnings  among  the  Germans,  of 
whom  he  says,  “  it  is  the  custom  of  the  states  by  voluntary 
and  individual  contribution  to  bestow  on  the  chiefs  a  pres¬ 
ent  of  cattle  or  of  grain,  which,  accepted  as  a  compliment, 
supplies  their  wants.”2  The  Saxons,  after  their  conquest  of 
England,  were  entering  upon  the  first  stage  of  that  later 
agricultural  feudalism,  which  developed  the  essential  prin¬ 
ciples  of  pastoral  feudalism  into  a  gigantic  system.  The 
ceorl  who  could  acquire  five  hides  of  land  became  a 
thane.  The  thanes  were  the  immediate  companions  of 
the  king,  —  his  comitatus,  and  from  their  first  appear¬ 
ance  in  English  history  they  took  rank  above  the  earlier 
nobility  of  Saxon  eorls,  who  were  descended  from  ancient 
tribal  chiefs.  Thus  the  thanes  as  a  nobility  of  the  newly 
rich  corresponded  to  the  cow-noblemen  of  an  earlier 
time. 

Under  the  pressure  of  a  common  danger  or  inspired  by  a 
common  ambition,  patronymic  tribes  of  the  same  racial  stock, 
dwelling  within  a  territory  of  geographical  unity,  unite 
in  military  confederations  that  are  more  coherent,  more 
formidable,  and  more  stable  than  the  strongest  of  metro¬ 
nymic  confederations.  A  patronymic  confederation  is  a  folk 
or  people,  and  it  may  develop  into  a  great  civil  state.  The 

1  Cf.  Hopkins,  “  The  Social  and  Military  Position  of  the  Ruling  Caste 
in  Ancient  India,”  loc.  c it.,  p.  82. 

2  “  Germania,”  c.  15. 


ETHNOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


297 


Egyptians,  the  Chaldeans,  the  Hebrews,  the  Greeks,  the 
Romans,  the  Saxons,  the  Franks,  the  Germans,  and  the 
Slavs  were  tribally  organized  peoples,  which,  by  subsequent 
growth  and  integration,  developed  into  national  states. 
Each  of  those  peoples  began  its  ethnical  career  in  an  envi¬ 
ronment  of  such  extent  and  of  such  geographical  unity  as 
to  make  the  growth  of  a  single  society  of  large  numbers 
and  of  considerable  dispersion  easily  possible,  and  of  such 
varied  productiveness  as  to  stimulate  desire,  inventiveness, 
and  activity.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  territory  occu¬ 
pied  by  any  of  those  peoples  was  populated  by  descendants 
of  a  single  small  horde.  It  is  more  probable  that  the  eth¬ 
nical  unity  was  the  result  of  an  assimilation  of  many  diverse 
tribal  elements  which,  attracted  by  a  superior  environment, 
came  together  in  the  course  of  their  wanderings.  Geograph¬ 
ical  unity  and  natural  wealth,  therefore,  were  the  antece¬ 
dents  of  ethnical  unity,  and  congregation  was  the  basis  of 
association. 

In  patronymic  even  more  than  in  metronymic  societies, 
however,  tradition  insists  that  the  tribes  are  descended 
from  a  common  ancestry  so  recent  that  it  can  be  traced. 
The  truth  seems  to  be  that  usually  the  tribes  are  of  the 
same  racial  stock,  but  that  they  had  become  scattered  and 
in  some  degree  unlike  before  they  confederated.  Proof  of 
the  conquest  and  absorption  of  groups  that  had  not  been 
accounted  brethren,  is  found  in  contracts  or  covenants  of 
adoption  or  alliance.  Uncivilized  men  do  not  covenant 
with  brethren.  They  covenant  with  strangers,  who  thereby, 
through  the  operation  of  a  legal  fiction,  become  brethren. 
For  example,  the  contract  or  covenant  of  the  Hebrew  tribes 
with  Jahweh  indicates  that  Jahweh  was  not  originally  the 
god  of  all  the  Hebrews.  If  he  was  the  adopted  god  of  some 
of  the  tribes,  they  must  have  amalgamated  with  a  mountain 
tribe  or  tribes  whose  god  he  was  in  fact.  In  general  then, 
tribal  societies  are  formed  by  the  co-working  of  genetic 
aggregation  with  a  congregation  of  remotely  related  hordes, 


298 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


which  have  been  dispersed  within  a  common  area  of  charac¬ 
terization.1 

When  patronymic  tribes  confederate  and  form  the  ethnic 
nation,  the  agnatic  principle  and  ancestor-worship,  combined 
with  political  and  military  conditions,  confer  great  author¬ 
ity  upon  the  head  chief  of  the  confederation.  He  becomes 
a  military  leader,  a  religious  leader  or  priest,  and  a  supreme 
judge,  all  in  one.  The  chief,  in  a  word,  becomes  a  king. 

With  the  achievement  of  confederation  and  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  kingship,  ethnogenic  evolution  is  completed.  A 
gentile  folk  or  ethnos  has  come  into  existence.  Its  further 
development,  if  evolution  be  not  arrested  at  this  point, 
carries  it  into  the  new  conditions  of  civic  life  and  demoge- 
nic  progress. 

1  Gumplowicz’s  error,  “Der  Rassenkampf,”  consists  in  his  failure 
to  distinguish  between  the  slightly  heterogeneous  or  practically  homo¬ 
geneous  groups  described  above,  and  extremely  heterogeneous  groups.  A 
true  ethnical  society  is  formed  by  the  integration  of  groups  that  are  racially 
alike. 


CHAPTER  IV 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 

It  has  been  shown  that  in  ethnical  society,  the  social 
constitution  is  subordinate  to  the  social  composition.  The 
chief  characteristic  of  societies  that  have  passed  beyond 
the  ethnogenic  stage  is  a  thorough  subordination  of  the 
social  composition  to  the  social  constitution.  All  such 
societies  are  civil  associations  —  civilizations. 

Societies  of  this  character  are  demogenic.  They  gen¬ 
erate  and  incorporate  great  populations,  which  tend  to 
become  democratic  in  spirit  and  organization. 

In  societies  of  this  grade,  therefore,  must  be  included  all 
ancient  and  modern  commonwealths  and  national  states 
in  which  civic  association  has  superseded  an  ethnic  or 
gentile  organization,  and  in  which  the  permanent  occupa¬ 
tion  of  a  definite  territory,  and  the  active  exploitation  of 
resources  by  a  highly  organized  industry,  have  resulted 
in  a  growth  of  great  populations  —  ranging  from  hundreds 
of  thousands  to  tens  of  millions  of  individuals ;  such  com¬ 
monwealths,  for  example,  as  Egypt,  b.c.  2806-2782  ;  Baby¬ 
lonia,  b.c.  2000 ;  Athens,  B.c.  450 ;  and  Germany,  France, 
Italy,  England,  and  the  United  States  a.d.  1896. 

Civil  societies  in  their  evolution  pass  through  three 
great  stages  of  progress.  The  most  ancient  civilizations, 
of  Egypt  and  Babylonia,  did  not  get  beyond  the  first 
stage ;  Greece  did  not  complete  the  second,  and  Rome 
did  not  quite  reach  the  third.  The  modern  nations  have 
fully  entered  upon  the  third.  These  stages  of  civil! 

299 


300 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


zation  do  not  correspond  to  such  distinct  types  of  society 
as  are  the  metronymic  and  the  patronymic  forms  of 
ethnical  society,  yet  the  difference  between  them  is  not 
merely  chronological:  it  is  a  difference  of  character  and  of 
structure. 

In  its  earliest  stage  the  civil  society  has  little  or  no 
friendly  communication  with  any  other  society  of  similar 
development.  It  is  continually  obliged  to  defend  itself 
against  an  almost  world-wide  barbarism,  or  against  a  rival 
state.  The  energies  of  the  population  are  given  first  to 
the  establishment  of  political  unity,  military  organization, 
and  security ;  only  secondarily,  if  at  all,  to  the  legal  organ¬ 
ization  of  minor  forms  of  association  within  the  social 
constitution,  and  to  the  systematic  pursuit  of  economic 
prosperity. 

When  political  unity  and  a  degree  of  security  have  been 
achieved,  the  energies  of  the  people  must  find  new  outlets 
and  new  forms  of  expression.  They  break  through  the 
coercive  restrictions  hitherto  imposed  by  military  policy, 
and  win  both  intellectual  and  personal  freedom.  Criticism 
is  turned  upon  the  social  organization.  It  is  seen  that 
the  possibility  of  uniting  stability  and  continuity  with 
liberty  and  progress  lies  in  the  development  of  law.  The 
state  in  its  political  character  enters  upon  the  stage  of 
constitutional  development,  and  there  is  a  great  multi¬ 
plication  of  subordinate  associations.  There  is  a  thorough 
differentiation  of  the  social  constitution  in  its  minor  parts. 

Athens  splendidly  developed  the  critical  and  philo¬ 
sophical  features  of  the  second  stage  of  civilization,  but 
she  failed  in  legal  construction.  Rome  exhibited  great 
practical  talent  in  legal  construction,  but  she  failed  to 
maintain  a  healthy  spirit  of  criticism.  Liberty  and  spon¬ 
taneity  of  life  were  sacrificed  to  administrative  mechanism. 

Neither  Greece  nor  Rome,  therefore,  accomplished  the 
task  of  the  second  stage  of  civilization  ;  much  less  did 
they  go  forward  to  a  third.  They  failed  because,  like 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


301 


Egypt  and  Babylonia,  tbey  were  unstable  civilizations. 
Their  superior  wealth  was  a  continual  temptation  to  the 
barbarians  of  the  outer  world,  by  whom  at  length  they 
were  overwhelmed. 

But  the  Germanic  nations,  simultaneously  prepared  for 
civilization  by  their  own  inherent  development,  and  by 
long  contact  with  Rome,  entered  upon  their  political 
evolution  under  precisely  opposite  conditions.  They 
simultaneously  grew  into  statehood  in  an  environment 
of  civilization  which  for  ages  had  lain  between  them  and 
the  more  remote  barbarism  of  central  Africa  and  central 
Asia,  and  on  the  partial  ruins  of  the  western  extension 
of  that  civilization  they  built.  For  this  reason  modern 
civilization  is  stable. 

Growing  side  by  side,  and  too  nearly  equal  in  power 
for  any  one  of  them  to  hope  to  maintain  supremacy  over 
any  other,  the  modern  western  nations  passed  through 
the  first  stage  of  civilization,  —  the  stage  of  political  inte¬ 
gration  and  of  a  rough  effective  organization  of  a  central 
governing  power,  —  with  less  suppression  of  the  minor 
interests  of  life  than  occurred  in  Egypt  and  in  the  East. 

The  second  stage,  in  turn,  was  no  partial  evolution  as 
it  was  in  Greece  and  in  Rome.  The  Renaissance,  the 
Protestant  Reformation,  the  English  Revolution,  the  Eigh¬ 
teenth  Century  Aufklarung,  the  American  Revolution  and 
the  French  Revolution,  the  free  trade  movement  in  Eng¬ 
land,  and  the  German  liberal  movement  of  1848,  were  but 
so  many  phases  of  a  thorough  criticism  and  reconstruction 
of  the  social  constitution  on  lines  of  legality,  liberty,  and 
free  association. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  in  the  life  of  any  nation  or 
family  of  nations  these  two  stages  have  ever  been  absolutely 
distinct.  There  has  been  much  overlapping.  Italy  and 
Germany  attained  to  national  unity  only  in  recent  years, 
long  after  they  had  been  profoundly  affected  by  the  gen¬ 
eral  liberal  movement,  and  after  other  European  states  had 


302 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


passed  through  the  stage  of  constitutional  reconstruction. 
Even  in  these  instances,  however,  the  true  sequence  is  the 
one  that  has  been  described.  United  Germany  and  United 
Italy  had  only  entered  on  their  civil  life  when  their  politi¬ 
cal  consolidation  was  accomplished.  The  problems  of  con¬ 
stitutional  organization  and  liberty  had  still  to  be  faced, 
and  not  yet  have  they  all  been  solved. 

In  general,  however,  the  western  nations  are  now  a 
world  community  of  powerful,  unified,  independent  states 
in  which  the  great  major  work  of  political  and  social  organi¬ 
zation  is  accomplished,  and  in  which  liberty  is  guaranteed 
by  law.  Savagery  and  barbarism  without  are  no  longer 
formidable,  and,  while  international  wars  are  always  pos¬ 
sible,  and  from  time  to  time  are  actual,  the  normal  state  of 
international  affairs  is  one  of  peace.  Energy  is  expend¬ 
ing  itself,  therefore,  in  new  directions.  These  nations 
have  entered  upon  a  third  stage  of  civilization,  —  the  eco¬ 
nomic  and  ethical.  They  are  absorbing  themselves  in  in¬ 
dustry,  in  amassing  wealth  and  in  discovering  its  uses,  in 
popular  education,  and,  more  and  more,  in  the  task  of  real¬ 
izing  the  life  possibilities  of  the  masses  of  the  people. 

Philosophical  historians  have  not  failed  to  observe  types 
and  stages  of  civilization.  In  its  analyses  and  explanations 
of  these,  sociology  becomes  a  philosophy  of  history.  The 
important  thing  is  to  make  classes  that  are  significant,  and 
that  correspond  to  actual  stages  of  evolution.  Three  of 
the  groupings  or  classifications  that  have  been  made  hith¬ 
erto,  namely,  those  of  Hegel,  Comte,  and  Mr.  Spencer,  are 
of  interest  to  compare  with  the  one  that  I  have  given  above. 

In  Hegel’s  philosophy  of  history1  human  development 
is  conceived  as  a  process  of  self-realization.  Step  by  step, 
man  comes  to  a  knowledge  of  himself  as  a  self-conscious 
and  self-determining  being  and  as  a  constituent  in  a  uni¬ 
verse  which  is  an  organic  whole.  But  this  progress  is  not 
i  “  Vorlesungen  iiber  die  Philosophie  der  Gesckichte.” 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


303 


intellectual  only.  The  sphere  of  man’s  freedom  also  is 
widened.  His  activity  finds  an  ever  larger  realm.  His¬ 
tory,  therefore,  has  been  a  progress  in  the  consciousness 
of  freedom.  It  began  when  spiritual  consciousness  and  as¬ 
piration  dawned  upon  man.  At  first  freedom  was  thought 
of  as  abstract  and  universal,  and  it  was  therefore  conceived 
as  existing  only  in  one  person.  That  one  was  God  in 
heaven  or  the  monarch  upon  earth.  This  stage  of  history 
was  worked  out  in  the  oriental  world.  In  the  Grecian 
world  an  advance  was  made.  Freedom  was  no  longer 
ascribed  solely  to  one.  Some  were  free,  many  could  be 
free,  but  not  all.  The  slave  remained.  Rome  carried  the 
work  of  Greece  somewhat  further,  embodying  the  sub¬ 
stance  of  freedom  in  the  formal  law  of  personal  rights. 
“  Finally,  with  the  Germanic  world,  and  under  the  inspira¬ 
tion  of  Christianity,  we  come  to  the  age  of  full  maturity, 
whose  mission  is  to  comprehend  and  carry  out  the  truth 
that  freedom  is  the  birthright  of  all  men.”  1 

Noble  and  true,  as  far  as  it  goes,  though  this  conception 
of  the  philosophy  of  history  is,  it  fails  to  recognize  one 
half  of  the  phenomena,  namely,  the  structural  changes 
in  society.  It  shows  us  the  serial  phenomena  only,  and 
these  only  on  the  subjective  side. 

Comte  believed  that  he  had  discovered  the  law  of  history 
in  a  progressive  development  of  humanity  through  two 
preparatory  stages  of  thought  into  a  third  and  final  stage.2 
The  first  stage  was  the  theological,  in  which  the  human 
mind  interpreted  all  causation  in  terms  of  the  direct 
activity  of  a  god  or  gods  in  works  of  creation  or  provi¬ 
dence.  Every  event  was  a  direct  intervention  of  deity. 
There  could  be  no  science  as  long  as  men  so  understood 
the  world,  and  no  material  or  moral  progress.  Mankind 
was  childish,  superstitious,  and  hero-worshipping.  The 

1  Morris,  “  Hegel’s  Philosophy  of  the  State  and  of  History,”  p.  136. 

2  “Cours  de  philosophic  positive,”  Vol.  IV.,  p.  653,  and  Martineau, 
“  The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte,”  Vol.  II.,  pp.  131  sq. 


304 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


second  stage  was  the  metaphysical.  No  longer  believing 
in  the  miraculous,  men  sought  to  interpret  the  world  in 
terms  of  principles,  abstractions,  entities.  So  doing,  they 
lost  themselves  in  fruitless  speculations.  The  human  mind 
was  emancipated,  but  it  wasted  its  energies  in  impossible 
questionings  of  what  is  essentially  unknowable.  The 
third  stage  is  the  positive  or  scientific.  Speculation  gives 
place  to  observation,  experiment,  induction,  generalization. 
Men  find  that  the  world  of  knowable  truth  is  quite  large 
enough  to  absorb  all  their  time  and  strength.  Building  on 
solid  foundations  of  fact,  they  learn  secrets  of  nature  that 
enable  them  to  master  the  material,  and  many  of  the  moral, 
conditions  of  life.  The  world  enters  upon  a  career  of 
progress. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Comte  found  the  law  of  history  in  a 
merely  intellectual  progress.1  He  did  not,  with  Hegel, 
rise  to  the  conception  of  a  progressive  evolution  of  the 
whole  personality  of  man,  and  he  failed,  as  Hegel  failed, 
to  perceive  that  society  itself  undergoes  a  progressive  dif¬ 
ferentiation  and  integration  of  structure,  corresponding 
to  changes  in  human  nature. 

Mr.  Spencer,  impatient  with  the  metaphysics  of  Hegel, 
and  with  the  superficiality  of  Comte,  has  undertaken  to 
construct  a  philosophy  of  progress,  based  on  observation  and 
induction.2  He  explains  the  evolution  of  society  in  terms 
of  differentiation  of  structure  and  then  concludes  that  the 
structure  is  of  one  of  two  types  according  to  the  charac¬ 
ter  of  the  habitual  activities  of  the  society. 

In  Mr.  Spencer’s  view,  the  military  power  usually  be¬ 
comes  so  important  in  the  process  of  nation-making  that 
it  shapes  the  whole  political  organization.  From  this  time 
the  future  character  of  the  society  and  of  its  various  insti¬ 
tutions  is  determined  by  the  form  that  the  leading  activi- 

1  Cf.  Condorcet,  “Progrfes  de  l’esprit  humain.” 

2  “The  Principles  of  Sociology,”  Vol.  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  X.,  §§  256- 
271,  and  Vol.  II.,  Part  V.,  Chaps.  XVII.  and  XVIII. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


305 


ties  habitually  assume.  If  the  military  activities  are 
continued  after  they  have  accomplished  their  proper  work 
of  integration,  the  society  undergoes  what  Mr.  Spencer 
has  called  the  process  of  regimentation,  and  minute  super¬ 
vision  extends  to  every  department  of  affairs.  Social 
ranks  are  sharply  defined,  perhaps  even  become  castes. 
The  industrial  system  is  subordinated  to  the  regulat¬ 
ing  system,  voluntary  enterprise  is  discouraged,  or  even 
repressed,  and  personal  freedom  disappears.  Counter-ten¬ 
dencies  appear  if  the  military  activities  subside.  Industrial 
development  is  as  conspicuous  in  its  turn  as  the  military 
organization  was  before.  Personal  freedom  increases,  and 
the  civil  power  becomes  paramount.  A  complex  organiza¬ 
tion  of  voluntary  enterprise,  working  through  freely  formed 
associations,  carries  on  a  multitude  of  social  functions. 

Mr.  Spencer’s  philosophy  thus  supplies  something  that 
both  Comte  and  Hegel  omitted,  but  it  falls  far  short  of 
completeness,  and  his  main  generalization  is  not  accurate. 

For,  as  we  have  seen,  the  character  of  a  society  is  deter¬ 
mined  by  the  unalterable  conditions  that  confront  it  at  each 
stage  of  its  development.  Jn  the  age  of  integration,  or 
nation-making,  a  society  must  be  .military,  with  such  con¬ 
sequences  as  Mr.  Spencer  observes.  At  a  later  time,  the 
free  type  of  organization  is  created  by  the  liberation  of 
energies  and  by  the  resulting  criticism  and  protestantism 
that  follow  the  completion  of  the  first  great  task  of  civil¬ 
ization.  And  only  when  the  free  forms  of  organization 
within  the  protection  of  law  have  been  achieved,  does  a 
great  industrial  development  become  possible.  -Industrial¬ 
ism  is  not  the  cause,  it  is  an  effect  of  freedom. 

Therefore  we  cannot  say  that  there  are  military  and 
industrial  types  of  society,  as  if,  in  any  stage  of  its  devel¬ 
opment,  a  society  might  be  either  military  or  industrial, 
and  as  if,  among  coexisting  societies  in  the  same  period  of 
growth,  some  might  be  industrial  and  others  military.  At 
the  beginning  of  its  civil  evolution  a  society  is  necessarily 


306 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


organized  for  military  activity.  In  the  final  stage  of  its 
evolution  it  is  predominantly  industrial.  These,  then,  are  * 
stages  or  periods  of  social  evolution  in  civil  societies. 
Between  them  lies  a  stage  that  Mr.  Spencer’s  classifica¬ 
tion  fails  to  recognize,  —  the  liberal-constitutional,  or  the 
liberal-legal,  in  which  the  energies  of  the  military  age  are 
transformed  into  the  activities  of  an  industrial  age. 

While  a  true  philosophy  of  history  must  thus  recognize 
stages  of  civilization  that  are  unmistakably  stages  of  social 
evolution,  it  nevertheless  must  also  insist  that  the  evolu¬ 
tion  involves  a  process  of  intellectual  progress  as  Comte 
affirmed,  and  of  expanding  personal  freedom  as  Hegel 
affirmed.  As  much  as  this  I  have  already  said  directly 
and  by  implication  in  my  many  declarations  that  the  func¬ 
tion  of  society  is  the  evolution  of  personality,  and  that 
demogenic  association  is  democratic  in  its  tendencies.  It 
is  therefore  necessary  to  inquire  how  subjective  develop¬ 
ment  in  the  individual,  and  changes  in  the  structure  and 
activity  of  society,  are  related. 

And  here  an  interesting  discovery  is  made.  In  the 
chapter  on  The  Social  Mind,  and  again  in  the  chapter  on 
Anthropogenic  Association,  it  was  shown  that  there  are 
three  fundamental  social  traditions ;  namely,  the  economic, 
the  legal,  and  the  political.  Of  these  the  economic  tradi¬ 
tion  is  primary,  —  it  is  the  earliest,  —  while  the  political  is 
the  latest,  in  the  order  of  evolution. 

But  in  the  present  account  of  the  three  stages  of  civ¬ 
ilization,  civil  society  is  represented  as  perfecting  first 
its  political  organization,  then  its  legal  constitution,  and 
finally  its  industrial  organization,  thus  reversing  the  order 
of  the  genesis  of  the  traditions. 

The  explanation  is  this :  When  society,  building  on  ele¬ 
mentary  economic  and  legal  traditions,  arrives  at  political 
development,  it  throws  all  its  energy  for  a  time  into  the 
work  of  perfecting  its  political  life,  to  the  comparative 
neglect  of  its  legal  and  economic  life.  There  is  neces- 


f 


v  32-5 

y 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


307 


sarily  a  concentration  of  creative  effort  upon  the  state 
until  it  is  a  strong  and  coherent  structure,  within  which 
the  other  elements  of  social  life  can  be  developed. 

But  when  political  integration  has  been  accomplished, 
society  throws  its  energies  back  upon  its  earlier  interests, 
to  develop  them  and  to  raise  other  parts  of  the  social 
organization  to  an  equality  of  strength  and  importance 
with  the  political.  Freedom  and  the  legal  organization  of 
relations  are  first  achieved,  and  then,  finally,  the  economic 
activities  receive  attention. 

So  the  order  of  development  of  the  major  social  tradi¬ 
tions  reverses  the  order  of  their  genesis.  The  same  thing 
is  true  of  the  secondary  traditions ;  namely,  the  personal, 
or  animistic,  the  aesthetic,  and  the  religious.  These  ap¬ 
pear  when  there  is  enough  energy  in  society  left  over  from 
the  main  struggle  for  existence  to  develop  some  minor 
sides  of  life. 

When  society  enters  with  all  its  might  upon  political 
development,  to  the  neglect  of  the  other  two  fundamen¬ 
tal  traditions,  it  has  by  no  means  perfected  the  earliest 
of  the  secondary  traditions.  In  so  far  as  it  busies  itself 
with  intangible  concerns,  the  human  mind  is  chiefly  in¬ 
terested  in  religion  and  the  rude  phases  of  creative  art. 
While  conquering  territory  and  organizing  the  state,  man¬ 
kind  in  its  leisure  hours  gives  itself  up  to  simple  enjoy¬ 
ments,  and  in  explanation  of  the  world  it  accepts  with 
unquestioning  faith  the  traditions  of  the  supernatural. 
This  is  the  age  of  the  epic  in  poetry,  of  the  massive  and 
heroic  in  architecture  and  plastic  art,  of  the  miraculous  in 
belief,  and  of  the  ceremonious  in  worship.  The  state,  in 
its  fresh  exuberance  of  power,  is  the  chief  patron  of  amuse¬ 
ments  and  of  art  endeavours.  Holding  itself  responsible 
for  religion  also,  it  is  theocratic.  The  age  of  nation-mak¬ 
ing  is  thus  also  the  age  of  religion-making,  and  the  age  in 
which  the  primal,  heroic  side  of  the  aesthetic  tradition  is 
developed. 


308 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


In  the  second  stage  the  human  mind  has  advanced  to  the 
critical  and  philosophical  position,  and  in  the  state  the 
need  is  felt  for  liberty  within  the  guarantees  of  law.  Con¬ 
sequently,  in  this  stage,  evolution  perfects  the  intermediate 
traditions  in  both  the  primary  and  the  secondary  classes  ; 
it  elaborates  law  and  completes  the  aesthetic  tradition  by 
developing  its  critical  side.  Finally,  in  the  third  stage 
humanity  has  worked  back  to  the  economic  and  the 
personal  interests.  It  throws  itself  with  zeal  into  the 
utilitarian  concerns  of  life  and  at  the  same  time  it  again 
raises  the  question,  What  is  life,  what  is  the  human  soul, 
and  what  its  destiny  ? 

The  order  of  the  development  of  the  tertiary  traditions 
—  the  traditions  of  conceptual  thought  —  is  different.  In 
the  religious-political  age  the  human  mind  is  theological. 
In  the  critical  and  legal  age  it  is  metaphysical.  Only  in 
the  economic  and  spiritual  age  is  it  scientific. 

Such,  then,  is  the  complete  philosophy  of  history.  Soci¬ 
ety  develops  its  political  life  and  then  works  back  through 
law  to  its  economic  foundations;  it  organizes  worship  and 
then  works  back  through  aesthetics  to  the  tradition  of  per¬ 
sonality  ;  it  constructs  its  theological  belief  and  then  goes 
forward  to  metaphysics  and  at  length  to  science.  This 
order  is  followed  not  only  because  it  is  the  natural  order 
of  the  psychological  development  of  the  community,  but 
also  because  at  every  step  the  traditions  that  are  developed 
together  naturally  supplement  each  other.  The  heroic- 
aesthetic,  the  devout  religious,  and  the  theological  tradi¬ 
tions  powerfully  strengthen  the  state  in  its  formative  days. 
Only  the  critical  spirit  and  the  metaphysical  mind  can 
accomplish  the  task  of  social  reorganization  on  legal  foun¬ 
dations.  It  is  well  for  the  historical  jurist  to  show  that 
the  conception  of  “  natural  rights  ”  is  a  metaphysical  ab¬ 
straction,  without  form  and  void,  but  he  should  not  forget 
that  it  was  only  because  men  believed  with  all  their  souls 
in  natural  rights  as  veritable  entities  that  they  were  able 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


309 


to  create  a  body  of  constitutional  law.  Finally,  it  is  out 
of  the  economic  evolution  that  we  get  a  true  ethical  evolu¬ 
tion  and  a  development  of  science,  and  only  as  we  do  get 
both  ethics  and  science  can  the  economic  evolution  con¬ 
tinue  to  the  full  achievement  of  its  possibilities. 

The  stages  of  civilization  accordingly  are :  the  military 
and  religious ;  the  liberal-legal ;  and  the  economic  and 
ethical. 

The  ethnic  society  that  has  become  partly  feudalized 
and  has  reached  the  stage  of  confederation  and  kingship, 
is  facing  conditions  that  will  further  transform  its  organi¬ 
zation.  It  is  increasing  in  wealth  and  in  population,  and 
it  must  resort  to  systematic  agriculture.  But  the  rapid 
evolution  of  energy  that  is  taking  place  is  followed  by 
expenditures  in  lawlessness  and  restlessness.  The  semi- 
feudal  chiefs  and  their  retainers  are  by  no  means  willing 
to  settle  down  to  agricultural  life.  To  conquer  and  plun¬ 
der,  and  to  compel  a  conquered  population  to  do  agricult¬ 
ural  labour,  is  a  more  attractive  programme. 

Accordingly,  we  find  that  patronymic  tribal  confedera¬ 
cies  seldom  establish  themselves  in  agricultural  industry 
on  the  territory  where  they  originate.  They  enter  upon 
a  career  of  migration  and  conquest.  Such  was  the  history 
of  the  nomad  tribes  that  overran  Egypt;  of  the  Assyrian 
tribes  that  overran  the  Akkadians ;  of  the  Hebrews,  the 
Greeks,  the  Latins,  and  the  Germans. 

If  the  enterprise  is  successful,  and  an  alien  people  is 
subjugated,  the  conquered  territory  becomes  the  perma¬ 
nent  home  of  the  conquerors. 

The  first  effect  of  conquest  is  secondary  congregation 
and  a  more  varied  demotic  composition. 

The  secondary  congregation  in  the  evolution  of  tribal 
societies  is  one  that  brings  aggregations  of  racially  related 
groups  into  such  contact  with  populations  of  a  different 


310 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


race  or  sub-race  that  social  and  demotic  amalgamation  are 
inevitable.  The  evidences  are  inexhaustible  that  the  great 
historical  peoples  were  created  by  the  superposition  of  races 
or  sub-races. 

Mr.  Petrie’s  discoveries  in  Egypt1  show  that  the  valley 
of  the  Nile  was  occupied  by  prehistoric  peoples  before  its 
invasion  by  tribes  which,  after  conquering  the  earlier  popu¬ 
lation,  created  a  national  state.  At  Medum  two  different 
modes  of  burial  preserve  side  by  side  the  customs  of  an 
aboriginal  and  a  conquering  race.2  The  latter  buried  its 
dead  at  full  length  and  put  in  the  tomb  some  provision  for 
the  body,  such  as  food  and  head-rests.  The  aborigines  put 
no  food-vessels  or  other  objects  in  the  tomb,  and  they  placed 
the  body  in  a  contracted  position  with  the  thighs  bent 
square  with  the  body  and  the  heels  drawn  up,  and  with 
the  head  always  to  the  north  and  facing  the  east.  The 
valleys  of  the  Euphrates  and  the  Tigris,  Palestine  and 
Asia  Minor,  were  from  the  earliest  times  meeting  and 
mingling  places  of  races.  Among  the  peoples  that  occu¬ 
pied  Palestine  before  the  Hebrew  conquest,3  were  Amo- 
rites  of  the  Kelto-Lybian  or  blonde  stock  of  the  white  race, 
Phoenicians  or  Canaanites  of  the  Hamitic  stock,  and  many 
groups  of  the  Semitic  stock.  Farther  to  the  northwest,  in 
Asia  Minor,  a  like  primitive  population  of  commingled 
Kelto-Lybian,  Hamitic,  and  Semitic  stocks  was  overrun  at 
an  early  period  by  conquering  warrior  tribes  of  the  Medi¬ 
terranean  stock,  Lycians,  Lydians,  Phrygians,  and  Carians,4 
who  came  across  the  Hellespont  from  Thrace.  In  Greece 
the  Hellenic  tribes  superposed  themselves  upon  a  primi¬ 
tive  population  of  Pelasgians ;  in  Italy  the  Latin  and  the 
Sabine  tribes  overran  the  Etruscans  and  the  Umbrians. 

1  “Ten  Years’  Digging  in  Egypt.” 

2  Petrie,  op.  cit.,  pp.  145,  146. 

3  Sayce,  “  Races  of  the  Old  Testament,”  p.  174. 

4  Ramsay,  Journal  of  Hellenic  Studies ,  Yol.  IX.,  1889,  p.  350  sg., 
endorsed  by  Gardner,  “New  Chapters  in  Greek  History,”  pp.  30-32. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


311 


In  England  within  the  historic  period  Saxons  and  Danes 
have  been  superposed  upon  Celts,  and  Normans  upon  Sax¬ 
ons  and  Danes.  And  back  of  these  conquests  and  com¬ 
minglings  there  were  throughout  Europe  in  prehistoric 
times  successive  overflowings  of  population  by  population, 
of  which  evidences  survive  in  stone  and  bronze  imple¬ 
ments,  burial  barrows,  and  skulls. 

The  commingling  of  ethnical  elements  by  congregate  asso¬ 
ciation  in  a  favourable  region  does  not  end  with  a  mere 
intercourse  of  groups  that  have  come  into  contact.  They 
intermarry.  The  congregation  and  the  genetic  aggrega¬ 
tion  become  inextricably  mingled.  Ancient  and  modern 
examples  from  every  part  of  the  world  show  not  only 
that  groups  of  the  same  stock  that  become  socially  in¬ 
tegrated  accept  intermarriage  as  one  of  the  implied  con¬ 
sequences,  but  also  that  conquering  tribes  seldom  extermi¬ 
nate  the  conquered.  The  women  especially  are  saved,  and 
as  slaves,  concubines,  or  wives  bear  children  of  mixed 
blood.  How  large  a  proportion  of  the  total  population  of 
a  state  may  have  had  this  origin  in  ancient  times  is  indi¬ 
cated  in  the  command  to  the  Israelites  on  the  eve  of  battle 
with  the  Midianites  :  “  Now  therefore  kill  every  male  among 
the  little  ones,  and  kill  every  woman  that  hath  known 
man  by  lying  with  him.  But  all  the  women  children  that 
have  not  known  man  by  lying  with  him,  keep  alive  for  your¬ 
selves,”  1  and  by  the  subsequent  record  that  “  the  prey  over 
and  above  the  booty  which  the  men  of  war  took  ”  included 
“  thirty  and  two  thousand  persons  in  all,  of  the  women  that 
had  not  known  man  by  lying  with  him.”  2 

The  demotic  composition  also  that  comes  into  existence 
while  the  intermingling  and  amalgamation  of  elements  is 
going  on,  is  extensive  and  complex  as  compared  with  that 
seen  in  savage  hordes.  The  completion  of  the  process  and 
the  final  amalgamation  create  ethnical  types. 

1  Numbers  xxxi.  17,  18. 

a  Ibid.,  32-35. 


312 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


That  the  great  waves  of  Celtic  and  Teutonic  migration 
across  Europe  did  not  supplant  one  stock  by  another,  but 
resulted  in  the  creation  of  new  nationalities  of  mixed 
blood,  is  a  proposition  now  too  well  established  to  need 
further  demonstration.  M.  Broca  found,  when  investi¬ 
gating  the  subject  of  stature,  that  nineteen-twentieths 
of  the  whole  population  of  France  present,  in  various 
degrees,  the  characteristics  of  mixed  races.1  The  English 
race  is  perhaps  as  interesting  an  example  as  any.  Twenty- 
five  years  ago  Huxley  showed  how  enduring  has  been  the 
strain  of  the  black-haired,  black-eyed  race  that  inhabited 
the  island  before  the  arrival  of  the  true  Aryan  Celts.2 
Those  dark  people  were  not  the  first  human  occupants  of 
Britain  ;  but  the  river-gravel  men  of  the  older  stone  age 
were  driven  south  by  the  glacial  ice,  and  left  little,  if  any, 
trace.  With  the  men  of  the  newer  stone  age,  who  were 
short  as  well  as  dark-complexioned  and  black-haired,  the 
case  was  different.  Careful  measurements  made  through¬ 
out  the  United  Kingdom  prove  that  the  type  survives  not 
only  in  the  black  Celts  of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  and  in 
the  dark  inhabitants  of  Lincolnshire  and  Yorkshire,  but 
also  in  many  isolated  groups  elsewhere.  The  subsequent 
invaders  were  first  the  true  Celts,  a  light-haired  race,  then 
the  Romans,  the  Saxons,  the  Danes,  and  the  Normans. 
The  Roman  occupation  left  little  physiological  trace. 

It  is  admitted  on  all  sides  that  the  Saxon  and  Norman 
bloods  were  well  mingled.  Controversy  has  turned  on 
the  question  of  the  intermixture  of  Saxons  and  Danes 
with  the  conquered  Britons.  The  extermination  theory 
has  had  distinguished  advocates  among  the  historians. 
Their  view,  however,  is  an  impossible  one  to  the  ethnog¬ 
rapher.  Had  the  Anglo-Saxons  exterminated  or  driven 
out  the  earlier  and  darker  half-Celtic  population,  the 

1  Quoted  by  Topinard,  “Anthropology,”  p.  371. 

2  “  The  Forefathers  of  the  English  People,”  in  Nature ,  Vol.  L,  No.  20, 
March  17,  1870,  p.  514. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


813 


people  of  England  at  the  present  day  would  be,  as  Mr. 
Grant  Allen  says,  “  without  exception  as  light-haired  and 
blue-eyed  as  in  the  fairest  parts  of  Norway  and  Sweden.”1 
The  fact,  however,  is  that  in  modern  England,  dark,  curly 
hair,  and  black  eyes  are  to  be  found  in  half  of  the  existing 
population.  The  conquering  English  never  really  pene¬ 
trated  into  Wales  and  Cornwall,  and  the  population  in 
those  two  districts  still  consists  almost  entirely  of  the 
mixed  dark  race  which  is  now  commonly  known  as  Celtic, 
in  contradistinction  to  the  lighter  Teutonic  Anglo-Saxon 
type.  Cumberland,  Westmoreland,  and  the  greater  part 
of  Lancashire,  though  afterwards  partially  settled  by  the 
Northmen,  likewise  escaped  the  Anglo-Saxon  colonization. 
In  Devon,  Somerset,  and  Dorset,  as  well  as  along  the 
Welsh  border  in  Hertfordshire,  Worcestershire,  Shrop¬ 
shire,  and  Cheshire,  the  invading  English  appear  to  have 
formed  a  mere  sprinkling  of  a  superior  class  among  a 
large  mass  of  servile  Welsh  cultivators.  And  even  in 
the  most  thoroughly  Teutonized  counties  of  Britain,  such 
as  Kent,  Sussex,  Lincolnshire,  and  Yorkshire,  abundant 
traces  of  a  yet  unswamped  dark  element  may  be  found. 
Everywhere,  in  fact,  —  even  in  the  most  English  portions 
of  England,  —  a  British  race  which  is  not  English  survives 
in  considerable  numbers.2 

This  description  of  the  English  population  shows  that 
amalgamation  never  becomes  so  complete  that  population 
is  absolutely  homogeneous.  In  one  place  one  of  the  origi¬ 
nal  elements  predominates,  in  another  place  other  elements 
prevail.  All  possible  intermediate  shades  between  the 
original  extremes  may  exist  simultaneously. 

When  a  tribally  organized  people  has  established  itself 
upon  a  conquered  territory  and  has  begun  to  amalgamate 
with  a  subject  race,  an  active  development  of  the  political 
phases  of  the  social  mind  begins. 

1  “  Common  Sense  Science,”  p.  174. 

2  Ibid.,  pp.  174,  175. 


314 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Sovereignty  assumes  a  more  definite  form  and  a  more 
positive  character.  Embodied  in  the  council  of  a  met¬ 
ronymic  confederacy,  sovereignty  could  hardly  appear 
to  free  tribesmen  as  a  power  to  compel  obedience.  Em¬ 
bodied  in  the  hereditary  king  of  a  patronymic  people,  it 
could  be  thought  of  as  a  right  to  command.  Even  then, 
however,  it  could  be  regarded  only  as  a  semi-divine  au¬ 
thority  over  the  people ;  and  not  as  an  authority  inher¬ 
ent  in  the  people.  But  when  by  united  action  an  entire 
people  imposes  its  rule  upon  a  subjugated  race,  sover¬ 
eignty  is  revealed  in  its  true  character  as  the  supreme 
expression  of  the  social  will,  —  as  a  law-making  and  obe¬ 
dience-compelling  power,  to  which  every  member  of  the 
state  contributes  his  individual  authority  and  his  might. 

It  is  at  this  stage,  then,  that  sovereignty  begins  to 
react  vigorously  upon  the  whole  organization  of  society. 
The  social  mind,  which  has  long  reflected  upon  social 
relations,  has  hitherto  expressed  its  approval  and  its  disap¬ 
proval  through  the  ancient  customs  of  the  clan  and  the 
tribe.  Now  it  begins  to  convert  its  judgments  into  formal 
decrees.  Compelled  by  the  contact  of  a  ruling  and  a 
subject  population  to  face  new  problems  of  organization,  it 
begins  systematically  to  review  the  social  system,  as  it  has 
hitherto  reviewed  the  conduct  of  individuals,  and  to  say 
explicitly  what  relations  will  be  tolerated.  Thus  the  rela¬ 
tions  that  are  expressly  authorized  and  sanctioned  are 
converted  into  positive  institutions. 

Sovereignty  necessarily  acts  through  the  social  constitu¬ 
tion,  especially  through  the  organs  of  government.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  the  social  constitution  presently  becomes 
superior  to  the  social  composition. 

The  first  institutions,  accordingly,  are  those  of  govern¬ 
ment  and  religion,  —  the  kingship  and  the  priesthood.  As 
at  this  time  religious,  military,  and  political  functions  are 
united  in  the  king,  there  is  no  separation  of  church  and 
state  ;  the  state  is  theocratic. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


315 


At  this  stage,  however,  the  social  constitution  is  not 
separated  from  the  social  or  from  the  demotic  composition. 
Therefore,  in  converting  the  organs  of  government  into 
positive  institutions,  the  sovereign  will  of  the  state  neces¬ 
sarily  converts  confederacy,  tribe,  clan,  and  family  also 
into  institutions.  For  a  time  sovereignty  accepts  and 
sanctions  the  forms  of  these  organizations  that  have  been 
established  by  custom.  It  accepts  and  sanctions  also  the 
established  distinctions  of  rank.  When  a  confederated 
folk  that  has  become  feudal  and  monarchical  takes  posses¬ 
sion  of  a  conquered  territory,  it  is  already  differentiated 
into  royal,  noble,  free,  and  servile  families.  These  distinc¬ 
tions  of  the  social  composition  are  now  made  the  basis  of 
the  hierarchy  of  power,  authority,  and  service  in  the  social 
constitution.  This  identity  of  the  social  composition  with 
the  social  constitution  long  persists. 

The  conquerors  nevertheless,  notwithstanding  great  dif¬ 
ferences  of  rank  among  themselves,  remain  sharply  sepa¬ 
rated  in  social  function  from  the  conquered.  There  is  an 
identity  of  the  social  constitution  with  the  composition  of 
the  population,  which  is  not  soon  destroyed.  The  conquer¬ 
ors  become  a  religious,  military,  and  political  class,  and 
the  conquered  an  industrial  class.  As  the  ruling  class  pos¬ 
sesses  the  soil  and  forces  the  subject  population  to  cultivate 
it,  there  is  no  separation  of  the  industrial  from  the  political 
organization  of  the  community.  The  institutional  organ¬ 
ization  of  government  therefore  makes  it  necessary  to 
convert  industrial  relations  into  a  third  group  of  positive 
institutions ;  namely,  those  of  property  and  of  slavery,  or 
serfdom. 

Thus  the  conquerors  reserve  to  themselves  the  privilege 
of  organizing  and  conducting  the  societies  that  have  direc¬ 
tive  functions  and  those  that  are  concerned  with  intellect¬ 
ual  interests.  They  organize  the  state  and  the  church  ; 
they  alone  belong  to  the  society  of  pleasure.  The  con¬ 
quered  are  the  industrial  society,  ever  hewing  the  wood 


316 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


and  drawing  the  water  for  the  house  of  the  god  of  the 
conqueror.  The  bondsmen  of  one  time,  however,  may  be 
the  rulers  of  another,  but  not  usually  in  the  same  state. 
Israel  made  bricks  for  Pharaoh,  and  when  the  children 
of  Israel  were  waxen  strong  they  put  the  Canaanites  to 
task  work,  but  the  bricks  were  made  by  the  Nile,  and  the 
Canaanites  were  not  Pharaohs. 

Conquest  has  played  so  large  a  part  in  social  evolution, 
and  the  merging  of  purposive  association  with  ethnical 
segregation  has  been  so  common,  that  certain  sociologists  1 
have  refused  to  admit  that  a  community  may  become  highly 
organized  in  any  other  way.  They  deny  that  the  larger 
division  of  labour  can  establish  itself  in  an  ethnically  homo¬ 
geneous  group.  Many  facts  already  noted  are  opposed 
to  this  sweeping  generalization.  Social  complexity  is  a 
product  of  many  things  besides  conquest. 

Nevertheless,  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  all  existing 
human  societies  except  the  highest  and  the  lowest,  the 
purposive  organization  is  only  partially  separated  from 
the  ethnical  composition.  It  must  also  be  admitted  as 
one  of  the  most  certain  facts  of  history,  that  the  most 
highly  organized  existing  societies  are  composed  in  part 
of  elements  that  have  survived  successive  waves  of  con¬ 
quest,  in  part  of  those  that  were  once  conquering  forces 
but  were  afterwards  subjugated,  and  in  part  of  elements 
that  won  and  maintained  supremacy.  In  fact,  for  many 
generations  the  principle  of  ethnical  subordination  was 
seen  in  every  part  of  the  purposive  organization.  It  is 
only  in  advanced  stages  of  the  development  of  highly 
organized  communities  that  the  differentiation  of  the  social 
constitution  from  the  social  composition  is  so  nearly  com¬ 
plete  that  all  the  ethnical  elements  may  make  their  way 
into  any  part  of  the  purposive  association.  The  social  dis¬ 
abilities  of  the  negro,  and  the  social,  legal,  and  political 

1  Gumplowicz  especially,  see  “Der  Rassenkampf,”  Part  IV.,  and 
“  Grundriss  der  Sociologie,”  Part  III. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


317 


disabilities  of  the  Indian,  show  how  far  from  perfect  is  the 
differentiation  in  our  own  nation,  even  now. 

The  conversion  of  social  relations  into  definite  institu¬ 
tions  increases  the  general  efficiency  of  the  social  organi¬ 
zation.  Life  and  property  are  made  more  secure  than  they 
were  in  nomadic  days.  Population  and  wealth  increase. 

The  differentiation  of  town  from  rural  life  now  begins. 
The  local  agricultural  group  at  this  time  is  a  village 
community,  and  the  social  organization  of  the  country 
population  in  general  is  manorial  in  form.  The  soil  is 
periodically  apportioned  among  clansmen,  but  the  culti¬ 
vators  are  servile.  They  no  longer  own  as  clans  or  tribes, 
—  as  individuals  they  never  have  owned  —  the  land  that 
they  till.  They  render  service  and  pay  tribute  to  a  lord.1 

Cities  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word  do  not  yet  exist. 
There  are  no  centres  of  dense  population.  But  there  are 
centres  of  worship  and  defence;  sacred  places  to  which 
men  gather  from  near  and  far  to  make  periodical  sacrifices 
to  their  tribal  deities.  These  homes  of  the  gods  are  forti¬ 
fied  ;  the  people  flee  to  them  in  times  of  danger.  They 
are  centres  of  administration  and  justice ;  for  h^re 
kings  and  judges  hold  their  court.  In  the  course  of  time 
tribal  chiefs  and  elders,  priests  and  military  leaders,  estab¬ 
lish  their  permanent  homes  in  these  holy  places.2  Garri¬ 
sons  of  soldiers  are  permanently  stationed  near  them. 
Artisans  and  labourers  are  brought  to  them  to  care  for 
the  temple,  to  build  the  fortifications,  and  to  manufacture 
weapons,  armour,  and  clothing  for  the  soldiery. 

The  currents  of  trade  begin  now  to  flow  steadily  towards 
these  centres  of  religious  and  social  life.  The  periodical 

1  See  Gomme,  “  The  Village  Community  ”  ;  Maine,  “  Village  Communi¬ 
ties”  ;  and  the  works  of  Von  Nasse,  Von  Maurer,  Seebohm,  de  Laveleye, 
Fustel  de  Coulanges,  Kovalevsky,  Andrews,  and  Vinogradoff. 

2  See  Fustel  de  Coulanges,  “La  cit6  antique,”  and  Hopkins,  “The 
Social  and  Military  Position  of  the  Ruling  Caste  in  Ancient  India,” 
loc.  cit.,  p.  77. 


318 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


festivals  and  sacrifices  afford  opportunities  for  exchange. 
A  brisk  barter  is  carried  on  by  the  assembled  clansmen ; 
cattle,  corn,  and  fruits,  metal  work  and  woven  fabrics, 
armour  and  utensils,  salt,  spices,  and  gums,  wines  and  oils, 
incense  and  perfumes,  pass  from  owner  to  owner.  The 
religious  festival  becomes  a  great  fair  and  market. 

Little  by  little  the  intervals  between  the  periodical  fairs 
are  shortened.  The  population  that  has  gathered  about  the 
religious  and  military  nucleus  steadily  increases.  Local 
manufactures  are  multiplied  and  trade  becomes  an  every¬ 
day  affair. 

The  division  of  labour  between  city  and  country,  which 
Adam  Smith  describes  as  the  fundamental  industrial  dif¬ 
ferentiation,  1  is  now  fully  established.  Agricultural  prod¬ 
uce  is  regularly  brought  to  town  for  the  subsistence  of  the 
urban  population,  and  the  wares  that  are  most  often  pur¬ 
chased  by  countrymen  are  regularly  manufactured  for  sale. 
Considerable  accumulations  of  free  capital  in  such  concrete 
forms  as  cattle,  grain,  implements,  and  stores  of  manufact¬ 
ured  goods,  have  by  this  time  been  made.  Some  one  com¬ 
modity  has  been  exchanged  so  much  more  frequently  than 
any  other  that  men  can  always  be  sure  that  with  it  they 
can  purchase  any  commodity  which  they  may  desire. 
Whatever  this  specially  well-known  and  highly  valued 
commodity  may  be,  —  whether  oxen  or  grain,  salt,  iron, 
copper,  beads,  or  shells,  —  it  is  a  true  medium  of  exchange, 
and,  as  soon  as  by  a  common  though  tacit  consent  it  is 
everywhere  accepted  in  discharge  of  debts,  it  is  a  true 
money.  The  appearance  of  money  is  followed  by  the 
development  of  a  merchant  class,  which  could  not  sooner 
have  come  into  existence,  because  the  merchant  must  have 
the  means  to  purchase  all  kinds  of  wares  and  must  be  able 
to  hold  them  in  stock ;  he  must  therefore  be  able  to  offer 
in  payment  that  which  will  be  universally  acceptable. 
From  this  time  forth  the  artisan  and  the  husbandman  no 

1  “The  Wealth  of  Nations,”  Book  III.,  Chap.  I. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


319 


longer  deal  directly  with  one  another.  Each  sells  to  the 
merchant  and  buys  from  him,  and  the  merchant  class  be¬ 
comes  a  principal  element  in  the  town  population. 

Industry  and  commerce  further  weaken  the  ancient  tribal 
bonds  already  impaired  by  feudalism.  To  the  centres  of 
trade  come  men  of  alien  tribes  in  search  of  economic  gain, 
as  they  did  in  Greece,  where,  as  early  as  the  time  of  Lycur- 
gus,  there  was  already  a  steady  immigration  from  the 
Mediterranean  islands  and  from  the  Ionian  settlements  of 
the  eastern  coast.  An  old  order  of  social  relations  is 
crumbling ;  a  new  order  is  about  to  arise. 

Unattached  to  the  tribes  with  which  they  have  cast  their 
fortunes,  but  acquiring  wealth  and  power,  the  miscel¬ 
laneous  elements  of  the  town  population  demand  juristic 
and  political  rights.  Persons  of  distinction  may  get  them¬ 
selves  adopted  into  a  clan  or  may  secure  the  admission  of 
their  own  clan  into  a  tribe,  but  these  privileges  are  not 
generally  accorded.  It  is  evident  that  some  other  than 
the  gentile  basis  must  be  found  for  the  organization  of  the 
state.  The  institution-making  power  of  sovereignty  is 
compelled  to  deal  with  a  wholly  novel  problem. 

Commercial  rights  are  granted  with  but  little  hesitation. 
The  foreign-born  are  allowed,  as  they  were  at  Rome,  the 
full  protection  of  the  local  law  in  all  affairs  of  trade.  But 
between  the  jus  commercii  and  the  jus  connubii  there  is  an 
abyss.  To  permit  the  alien  to  marry  into  a  local  clan  is 
to  admit  the  wife  to  the  worship  of  strange  gods  and 
is  ultimately,  no  doubt,  to  intrust  to  strangers  the  solemn 
sacrifices  to  the  city’s  dead.  This  is  too  serious  an  innova¬ 
tion  to  be  contemplated  until  the  revolutionary  pressure 
becomes  irresistible. 

Irresistible,  however,  it  does  become,  and  that  inevitably. 
The  trading  class  presently  outnumbers  the  older  popula¬ 
tion  and  greatly  surpasses  it  in  wealth.  It  becomes  clear 
that  the  unorganized  but  prosperous  multitude  cannot 


320 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


permanently  be  exempted  from  the  duty  of  supporting 
and  of  defending  the  state,  and  that,  unless  it  is  in  some 
manner  incorporated  in  the  body  politic,  it  can  overthrow 
the  city  which  has  sheltered  it.  It  becomes  evident  to 
all  that  the  ancestral  gods  whose  worship  has  been  kept 
pure  by  the  restrictions  of  the  marriage  laws  are  now  in 
danger  of  a  violent  destruction.  The  altars  at  which 
none  but  kindred  may  worship  may  yet  be  overthrown  by 
strangers. 

But  how  to  incorporate  in  a  tribal  state  a  heterogeneous 
multitude  of  unrelated  men,  is  a  question  which  the  prac¬ 
tical  politician,  with  his  unfailing  instinct  for  exhausting 
every  wrong  device  before  trying  the  obviously  right  one, 
does  not  immediately  answer.  In  the  successive  attempts 
of  Athens  and  of  Rome  to  reorganize  the  commonwealth, 
the  various  plans  that  were  tried  had  all  the  characteristics 
of  ingeniously  devised  inventions.  All  were  suggested, 
nevertheless,  by  the  forms  through  which  social  evolution 
had  passed  or  was  passing.  At  Athens,  for  example,  there 
was,  first  of  all,  the  attempt  which  is  associated  with  the 
name  of  the  legendary  hero  Theseus,  to  organize  society 
by  classes,  namely,  the  well-born,  the  husbandmen,  and 
the  artisans.  The  principal  offices  in  the  civil  administra¬ 
tion  and  in  the  priesthood  were  assigned  to  the  well-born, 
the  Eupatridse,  who  were  simply  clan  and  tribal  chieftains. 
The  evident  intention  was  to  unite  the  chiefs  by  class-feel¬ 
ing,  and  thus,  by  an  antagonistic  class-feeling,  to  unite  the 
husbandmen  and  in  like  manner  the  artisans,  and  so  to 
break  down  gentile  lines  of  division.  It  was  an  attempt 
to  destroy  utterly  the  tribal  system  in  the  interest  of  the 
feudal  system.  It  inevitably  failed  because  it  antagonized 
the  conservative  instincts  of  a  majority  of  the  voters.  Next 
was  made  the  attempt  attributed  to  Solon,  to  organize 
society  on  a  basis  of  property  and  military  service.  In 
this  plan  at  Athens,  as  afterwards  at  Rome,  all  freemen, 
though  not  connected  with  any  clan,  were  enrolled  in  the 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


321 


array  and  were  given  a  certain  voice  in  public  affairs. 
This  scheme  also  failed  because  it  left  the  line  of  demarca¬ 
tion  between  the  tribal  and  the  miscellaneous  population 
as  sharp  as  ever.  Not  until  the  time  of  Cleisthenes  was  it 
seen  that  the  most  simple  and  obvious  of  all  possible  plans 
was  the  only  practicable  one.  Whatever  may  be  true  in 
the  spiritual  vineyard,  in  politics  new  wine  must  be  put 
into  old  bottles  or  the  public  will  distrust  the  brand.  The 
attempt  to  break  down  tribal  lines  was  then  given  over. 
Clans  and  tribes  had  long  been  localized.  Each  claimed 
jurisdiction  within  definite  territorial  limits.  Within  each 
territorial  subdivision  were  both  clansmen  and  strangers. 
The  state  simply  decreed  that  all  men  who  lived  within 
the  boundaries  of  any  local  subdivision  of  a  tribal  domain 
should  be  enrolled  as  members  of  the  local  community 
which  dwelt  there ;  that  all  who  dwelt  within  the  domain 
of  any  tribe  should  be  enrolled  as  members  of  that  tribe. 
Kinship  might  still  be  traced  by  those  who  cared  about  it. 
Every  one  could  retain  his  clan-name  and  his  religious 
rites  according  to  ancestral  custom,1  and  citizens  of  aristo¬ 
cratic  descent  in  fact  continued  to  describe  themselves  by 
their  gentile  names,  although  they  still  added  the  names 
of  their  demes.2  Thus  a  perfect  organization  of  the  state 
was  at  last  accomplished  with  the  least  possible  shock  to 
ancient  prejudices.  In  name  and  form  the  ancient  system 
remained.  Its  substance,  even,  remained  for  social  and 
religious  purposes,  but  for  political  purposes  its  content 
was  entirely  changed. 

Thus  at  length  the  gentile  is  converted  into  the  civil 
organization  of  society.  Civic  association,  irrespective  of 
kinship,  becomes  the  basis  of  political  cooperation.  Gradu¬ 
ally  tribal  lines  are  more  or  less  artificially  re-drawn,  and 
at  length  it  is  forgotten  that  local  boundaries  ever  marked 
tribal  domains  and  that  village  names  were  once  the  names 

1  Aristotle,  “The  Constitution  of  Athens,”  Chap.  XXI. 

2  e.g.  Hipparchus,  son  of  Charm  us,  of  Colyttus,  Ibid.,  Chap.  XXII. 


322 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


of  clans.  The  tribal  confederacy  has  become  the  territorial 

state. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  creation  of 
the  territorial  state  obliterates  the  thought  of  an  ethnic 
unity.  It  only  subordinates  it  to  a  higher  ideal,  in  which 
the  conception  of  territorial  unity  is  given  a  more  impor¬ 
tant  place  than  it  has  hitherto  held.1  The  state  still  con¬ 
sciously  strives  to  secure  the  ethnic  unity  of  its  population, 
but  the  attempt  is  not  now  to  preserve  the  purity  of  an 
ancient  blood.  It  is  rather  to  perfect  the  new  ethnic  unity 
that  is  to  emerge  from  the  blending  of  many  elements. 
The  consciousness  of  kind  has  broadened.  The  possi¬ 
bilities  of  assimilation  are  perceived.  It  is  realized  that 
men  who  have  identified  their  interests  with  those  of  an 
ancient  race,  who  have  learned  its  language  and  have 
adopted  its  religion,  may,  by  these  means,  become  identi¬ 
fied  with  it  in  spirit,  and  ultimately,  through  intermar¬ 
riage,  may  become  united  with  it  in  blood.  Through  the 
influence  of  this  idea  the  fiction  of  adoption  is  preserved 
in  the  law  of  naturalization  and  the  jus  sanguinis  long 
remains  as  the  law  of  nationality.2 

Animated  by  its  enlarged  ideas  of  ethnic  and  territorial 
unity,  the  state  enters  upon  the  realization  of  a  positive 
policy.  It  endeavours  to  bring  under  one  sovereignty  all 
related  peoples  that  speak  allied  languages  and  that  have 
like  interests.  It  endeavours  to  bring  under  one  adminis¬ 
tration  all  fragments  of  territory  that  together  form  a 
natural  whole  for  purposes  of  commerce,  social  intercourse, 
and  military  defence.  It  attempts,  in  short,  to  establish  a 
scientific  frontier. 

To  accomplish  this  purpose  it  enters  upon  a  career  of 

1  Cf.  Burgess,  “Political  Science  and  Comparative  Constitutional  Law,” 
Yol.  I.,  pp.  1-4. 

2  Cf.  Munroe  Smith,  “Nationality,  Law  of,”  in  Lalor’s  Cyclopaedia  of 
Political  Science. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


323 


aggression  which  necessitates  a  perfect  internal  cohesion. 
Every  interest  is  in  some  degree  sacrificed  to  military  disci¬ 
pline.  Religion,  which  has  long  been  a  medley  of  ancestral 
faiths,  becomes  national  and  organic.  Family,  gentile,  and 
local  gods  are  thoroughly  subordinated  to  the  national  god, 
who  is  represented  by  the  king  and  a  centralized  priest¬ 
hood.  The  national  religion  therefore,  by  its  sanctions,  up¬ 
holds  the  authority  of  the  central  administration.  Divine 
qualities  are  imputed  to  the  king  and  he  is  encouraged  to 
assert  arbitrary  powers. 

Under  these  influences  political  integration  goes  irresist¬ 
ibly  forward.  The  stronger  absorb  the  weaker  states,  until 
the  resulting  civil  societies  become  doubly  and  trebly  com¬ 
pound.1  Moreover,  conquest  does  not  end  when  the  scien¬ 
tific  frontier  has  been  established.  Ambition  overleaps  its 
proper  bounds.  One  after  another,  visions  of  universal 
empire  arise,  before  the  eyes  of  Rameses  and  of  Sargon, 
of  Cyrus  and  of  Alexander,  of  Caesar  and  of  Charlemagne. 
Distant  peoples  that  can  never  be  an  integral  part  of  the 
conquering  nation  are  subjugated  in  mere  wantonness  of 
power,  and  are  compelled  to  pay  tribute,  which  flows  in 
broadening  streams  of  wealth  to  enrich  the  capital  city. 
Material  splendour  rewards  the  military  success.  Palaces 
and  temples  are  its  monuments.  Statues  and  tablets  re¬ 
cord  the  deeds  of  its  heroes. 

Such  are  the  achievements  of  the  nation-making  age,2 
of  the  military-religious  period  of  social  evolution.  They 
contribute  to  civilization  two  of  its  essential  elements ; 
namely,  security  of  property  and  of  life,  and  a  masterful 
creative  activity  of  the  human  spirit,  expressing  itself  in 
political  and  religious  organization  and  in  a  rude  but  mas¬ 
sive  and  enduring  art.  A  third  element  is  contributed 
only  by  the  criticism  and  philosophy  that  are  born  in  the 
next  great  stage  of  progress. 

1  Spencer,  “The  Principles  of  Sociology,”  Yol.  I.,  §§  256,  257. 

2  Cf.  Bagehot,  “Physics  and  Politics,”  Chaps.  III.  and  IV. 


324 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  directions  in  which  energy  expends  itself  when 
political  integration  has  been  accomplished  and  a  good 
degree  of  security  has  been  achieved,  have  been  deter¬ 
mined  by  the  social  activities  of  the  military  stage. 

Military  expeditions,  conquest,  slavery,  and  trade  have 
broadened  the  range  of  experience,  have  widened  the 
mental  horizon,  and  have  increased  the  complexity  of  the 
demotic  composition.  Ezekiel’s  magnificent  description 
of  the  commerce  of  Tyre1  reveals  an  intermingling  of 
nationalities  in  the  ancient  world  that,  in  its  amazing  com¬ 
plexity,  is  exceeded  only  in  the  greatest  cities  of  modern 
times. 

Such  admixtures  of  ethnical  elements  result  in  progress. 
In  the  chapters  on  Zoogenic  and  Anthropogenic  Associa¬ 
tion,  it  was  shown  that  the  crossing  of  varieties  that  are  not 
too  unlike  is  often  beneficial.  Mixed  races,  after  natural 
selection  has  eliminated  their  weaklings,  are  taller,  stronger, 
more  prolific,  and  more  adaptable  than  pure  races.  Anthro¬ 
pologists  differ  in  regard  to  the  limits  within  which  cross¬ 
breeding  is  advantageous.  Prichard’s  opinion  2  that  hybrid 
offspring  are  equally  prolific  whether  their  parent  stocks 
are  similar  or  most  dissimilar  races  is  still  held  by  many 
investigators.  The  consensus  of  the  best  judgment  on 
this  subject,  however,  supports  the  conclusion  of  J.  C. 
Nott,  that  two  resembling  races  produce  fertile  offspring, 
but  that  when  very  unlike  races  are  crossed  the  offspring 
show  an  inherent  tendency  to  sterility  when  kept  apart 
from  parent  stocks.3  This  is  the  belief  of  Vogt4 5  and  of 
Professor  Broca.6  On  one  point  there  is  no  dispute. 
Crossing  creates  physiological  plasticity  and  variability. 
It  is  for  this  reason,  indeed,  that  some  hybrid  races  lack 

1  Ezekiel,  xxvii. 

2  “Natural  History  of  Man,”  p.  18. 

8  Nott  and  Gliddon,  “Types  of  Mankind,”  p.  397. 

*  “Lectures  on  Man,”  p.  421. 

5  “  Phenomena  of  Hybridity  in  Genus  Homo,”  p.  60. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


325 


stability.  Most  of  the  ethnical  elements  that  have  mingled 
in  civil  societies  have  been  sufficiently  unlike  to  ensure 
plasticity  and  individual  vigour,  and  not  so  different  as  to 
impair  the  stability  or  the  fertility  of  the  resulting  stock. 

Of  more  importance  than  physical  plasticity,  however, 
is  the  mental  plasticity  of  civil  populations.  The  inter¬ 
course  of  nations  has  created  a  critical  and  catholic  mental 
type  in  which  conscious  adjustment  prevails  over  automa¬ 
tism.1  Many  physiologists  have  held  that  the  tendency  of 
nervous  development  is  towards  automatic  action,  and  that 
the  human  being  therefore  tends  to  become  a  mechanism 
adjusted  to  its  conditions.  Guyau  points  out  that  the 
social  environment  is  ever  changing,  and  that  it  is  there¬ 
fore  impossible  for  humanity  to  become  a  conscious  automa¬ 
ton.  It  is  more  likely,  he  thinks,  that  natural  selection 
favours  those  who  have  the  greatest  power  of  making 
conscious  adjustments  to  changing  conditions. 

In  the  plastic  consciousness  of  an  alert  and  versatile 
population,  the  investigating,  critical,  and  philosophical 
spirit  arises.  Discovery  is  pursued  for  its  own  sake  ;  and 
geography,  history,  and  science  become  serious  intellectual 
interests.  The  result  is  that,  as  different  communities  and 
different  stages  of  culture  are  compared,  dissatisfaction 
with  existing  conditions  is  felt  and  the  idea  of  a  possible 
improvement  is  conceived.  Protestantism  in  the  large 
sense  of  the  word  begins  to  be  influential  and  the  now 
fully  self-conscious  community  undertakes  its  own  reorgan¬ 
ization  and  advancement. 

While  the  critical  phase  of  mental  evolution  character¬ 
izes  all  civil  societies  at  a  certain  stage,  it  does  so  in  very 
unequal  degrees.  Some  societies,  having  made  a  measure 
of  progress,  have  become  stationary ;  others  remain  merely 
modifiable ;  a  few  continue  to  be  inherently  progressive. 
These  inequalities  are  explained  by  selection.  Survival 

1  Guyau,  “  Education  et  h6redit6,”  Chap.  IX. 


326 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


and  selection  confirm  the  variability  and  the  growing  power 
of  some  societies,  the  modifiability  of  others,  and  the  rigid¬ 
ity  of  others.  They  fix  the  type  of  each  nationality  and 
of  each  community.1  Types  of  society  result.  England, 
Germany,  and  the  United  States  are  inherently  progressive 
nations.  Ireland  and  the  Slavonic  provinces  of  Austria 
and  of  Turkey  are  modifiable,  Spain  and  the  French  prov¬ 
inces  of  Canada  are  arrested,  or  stationary,  societies. 

A  continual  sifting  goes  on.2  Young  men  of  energy  and 
determination  hasten  from  meagre  opportunities  and  social 
stagnation  to  improve  their  condition  where  resources  are 
more  abundant  and  the  population  is  more  active.  By 
this  means,  as  well  as  by  the  birth  rate,  the  predominance 
of  the  young  and  vigorous  in  progressive  communities  is 
increased. 

The  community,  however,  reacts  upon  the  individual. 
The  influence  of  natural  selection  in  favouring  those  who 
conform  to  the  dominant  characteristics  of  the  society  in 
which  they  are  born  is  quite  as  important  as  its  effect  in 
developing  those  that  are  adapted  to  a  physical  environ¬ 
ment.  Selection  may  exclude,  suppress,  or  modify  those 
who  show  too  much  variability.  A  man  whose  appear¬ 
ance  or  whose  mental  and  moral  qualities  are  objectionable 
to  his  fellows  finds  fewer  economic  opportunities  and,  other 
things  being  equal,  stands  less  chance  of  leaving  offspring 
than  one  who  conforms  to  the  dominant  spirit.  It  makes 
a  great  difference,  therefore,  whether  the  prevailing  feeling 
in  a  community  is  favourable  to  enterprise  or  to  a  hopeless 
conservatism.  One  community  desires  change,  it  admires 
enterprise ;  another  cares  only  to  keep  things  as  they  are. 
Even  in  the  local  communities  of  the  same  commonwealth 
these  differences  may  be  seen.  Selection  favours  the  vari- 

1  Bagehot,  “Physics  and  Politics.” 

2  Cf.  “The  Nature  and  Conduct  of  Political  Majorities,”  Political  Sci¬ 
ence  Quarterly ,  Vol.  VII.,  No.  1.  March,  1892,  pp.  127, 128,  and  Longstaff, 
“Studies  in  Statistics,”  Chap.  VII. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


327 


able  type  in  one,  the  unmodifiable  type  in  another.  The 
discipline  of  early  life  creates  progressive  habits  in  one 
place,  and  non-progressive  habits  in  another.1 

Thus  natural  selection  operates  not  only  to  favour  enter¬ 
prising  individuals  in  the  progressive  community,  and  to 
sort  out  the  enterprising  individuals  from  communities 
that  are  unprogressive,  but  it  operates  also  on  the  double 
personality  of  each  individual.  Every  man  is  complex, 
containing  within  himself  both  progressive  and  conserva¬ 
tive  tendencies.  If  the  spirit  of  the  community  in  which 
he  lives  is  progressive,  the  progressive  tendencies  in  his 
nature  are  stimulated,  and  the  conservative  tendencies  are 
atrophied. 

Furthermore,  those  individuals  are  developed  whose  tal¬ 
ents  are  in  demand,  and  in  the  same  individual  the  group 
of  talents  that  is  of  immediate  service  is  brought  to  a  rela¬ 
tive  perfection.  One  period  favours  the  soldier,  another 
the  business  man,  another  the  poet,  another  the  man  of 
science.  If  a  genius  is  born  in  a  conservative  community, 
either  he  seeks  a  more  congenial  social  environment  else¬ 
where  or  his  genius  is  crushed  before  it  becomes  strong 
enough  to  assert  itself.  If  he  is  born  when  men  care  noth¬ 
ing  for  the  things  in  which  he  might  excel,  he  never  real¬ 
izes  the  possibilities  of  his  nature. 

When,  therefore,  a  mode  of  feeling  becomes  dominant, 
selection  intensifies  it.  Selection  has  produced  the  Amer¬ 
ican  spirit,  with  its  desire  for  change,  its  love  of  experi¬ 
ment,  and  its  respect  for  enterprise.  There  is  a  continual 
weeding  out  of  unenterprising  elements.  In  like  manner, 
the  cities  are  more  enterprising,  and  more  varying,  than 
the  rural  communities,  and  this  difference  between  city 
and  country  has  been  increasing  for  many  years. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  inquire  whether  a  race  that  has 
been  subordinated,  but  has  not  been  incorporated  by  its 
conquerors,  does  not  become  increasingly  conservative. 

1  Cf.  Bagehot,  “Physics  and  Politics,”  p.  6. 


328 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  prevailing  feeling  in  such  a  race  is  one  of  hostility 
to  the  manners  and  laws  of  the  dominant  race.  Young 
men  who  favour  the  adoption  of  new  customs  are  frowned 
upon,  and  all  opportunities  go  to  those  who  support  con¬ 
servative  practices.  These  phenomena  may  still  be  seen 
among  the  North  American  Indians. 

The  possible  degree  of  association,  with  all  that  it 
implies,  is  greater  in  one  race  than  in  another,  just  as 
it  is  greater  in  one  part  of  the  same  national  community 
than  in  another.  In  the  same  race  or  in  the  same  national 
stock  it  varies  also  with  changing  conditions. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  we  ought  not  to  assert  that 
the  lower  races  have  not  the  capacity  for  social  evolu¬ 
tion,  because  we  do  not  know  what  they  could  do  if 
they  had  opportunity.  They  have  been  in  existence, 
however,  much  longer  than  the  European  races,  and  have 
accomplished  immeasurably  less.  We  are,  therefore,  war¬ 
ranted  in  saying  that  they  have  not  the  same  inherent 
abilities. 

When  higher  and  lower  races  come  in  contact,  it  is 
necessary  for  the  higher  in  many  ways  to  sustain  the 
lower;  otherwise  it  would  be  impossible  for  two  very 
different  races  to  live  together.  Unfortunately,  however, 
the  same  amount  of  educational  effort  does  not  yield  equal 
results  when  applied  to  different  stocks. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  the  now  extinct  Tasmanians 
had  the  ability  to  rise.  They  were  exterminated  so  easily 
that  they  evidently  had  neither  power  of  resistance  nor 
any  adaptability.  Another  race  with  little  capacity  for 
improvement  is  the  surviving  North  American  Indian. 
Though  intellectually  superior  to  the  negro,  the  Indian 
has  shown  less  ability  than  the  negro  to  adapt  himself  to 
new  conditions.  The  negro  is  plastic.  He  yields  easily 
to  environing  influences.  Deprived  of  the  support  of 
stronger  races,  he  still  relapses  into  savagery,  but  kept 
in  contact  with  the  whites,  he  readily  takes  the  external 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


329 


impress  of  civilization,  and  there  is  reason  to  hope  that  he 
will  yet  acquire  a  measure  of  its  spirit. 

A  truly  progressive  type,  then,  must  have  not  only 
plasticity,  but  also  strength  of  character  to  make  in¬ 
dependent  advances,  and,  without  outside  help,  to  hold 
an  advantage  when  it  has  been  gained.  This  combination 
of  qualities  has  in  modern  times  been  found  only  in  the 
nations  of  northern  and  western  Europe  and  in  their  colo¬ 
nies.  All  things  considered,  England  has  been  the  most 
progressive  nation  of  history,  combining  in  a  rare  degree 
adaptability  and  variability  with  resolution  and  strength. 

The  nation  that  has  become  protestant  and  progressive 
has  to  face  the  task  of  achieving  a  social  organization  that 
shall  maintain  unity  and  stability  and  yet  shall  guarantee 
liberty. 

From  the  comparative  study  of  religions,  laws,  and 
polities,  two  guiding  ideas  have  sprung.  One  is  the 
notion  of  a  jus  gentium ,  —  a  customary  law  that  in  its 
essential  rules  is  the  same  in  all  nations.  Each  nation 
in  its  infancy  has  regarded  itself  as  a  peculiar  people.  It 
has  cherished  its  law  as  a  body  of  unique  and  unequalled 
wisdom.  When,  therefore,  after  it  has  subjugated  alien 
peoples  and  has  annexed  their  lands,  and  has  discovered 
that  their  systems  of  law  differ  only  in  form  and  detail 
from  its  own,  its  conception  of  the  nature  of  law  neces¬ 
sarily  undergoes  a  profound  change.  It  finds  itself 
obliged  to  think  of  law  as  made  up  more  of  general 
than  of  peculiar  principles.  It  begins  to  think  of  certain 
principles  as  universally  true,  and  to  identify  them  with 
the  nature  of  society.  It  observes,  moreover,  that  the 
universal  rules  of  customary  law  are  independent  of  the 
forms  of  government,  and  it  begins  to  regard  them,  there¬ 
fore,  as  of  superior  authority,  and  to  believe  that  govern¬ 
ments  should  themselves  be  governed  by  the  universally 
accepted  rules  of  right. 


330 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  other  guiding  idea  is  that  of  a  jus  naturx ,  and  it  is 
so  closely  related  to  the  notion  of  a  jus  gentium  as  often  to 
be  identified  with  it.  Both  historically  and  philosophically, 
however,  the  jus  naturce  is  distinct.  The  jus  gentium  is 
objective ;  it  is  a  body  of  actually  sanctioned  rules,  actually 
operative  in  many  different  states.  The^ws  naturce  is  sub¬ 
jective  and  speculative.  It  is  the  result  of  a  philosophical 
attempt  to  find  the  rational  grounds  of  moral  conduct.  It 
is  a  set  of  ideal  rules  that  reason  approves  of,  or,  as  Cicero 
says,  it  “  is  the  highest  reason,  implanted  in  nature,  which 
commands  those  things  that  ought  to  be  done  and  prohibits 
those  that  ought  not  to  be.”  1 

From  this  conception  of  ideal  law  to  an  idealized  con¬ 
ception  of  the  jus  gentium  the  transition  is  easy,  and  the 
two  conceptions  are  often  confounded,  as  they  are  by  Gaius, 
when  he  says  that  “  whatever  natural  reason  has  decreed 
amongst  men  is  cherished  equally  by  all  nations,  and  is 
called  the  jus  gentium ,  as  if  all  nations  employed  it ;  ”  2 
and  as  they  are  many  centuries  later  by  Jeremy  Taylor, 
when  he  writes  that  “  the  law  of  nature  is  the  universal 
law  of  the  world,  or  the  law  of  mankind  concerning  common 
necessities,  to  which  we  are  inclined  by  nature,  invited  by 
consent,  prompted  by  reason,  but  is  bound  upon  us  only 
by  the  command  of  God.”  3 

From  such  ideas  the  inference  follows  that  the  people 
rather  than  their  governments  are  the  creators  of  substan¬ 
tive  law,  and  that  the  people,  as  rational  moral  beings, 
ought  to  hold  themselves  and  their  governments  to  the 
obedience  of  that  “  highest  law  ”  which  “  was  born  in  all 
the  ages  before  any  law  was  written  or  state  was  formed,”  4 
which  began  to  be  “at  the  same  moment  with  the  mind 
of  God.”  5 

1  “  De  Legibus,”  I.  6. 

2  “  Institutes,”  I.  1. 

8  ‘‘Ductor  Dubitantium,”  Book  II.,  Chap.  I.,  Rule  1. 

4  Cicero,  “De  Legibus,”  I.  6.  -  5  Ibid.,  II.  4. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


331 


Prolonged  reflection  upon  these  conclusions  yields  fruit 
at  length  in  discussion,  and  sooner  or  later  public  interest 
in  them  is  thoroughly  aroused.  A  legal  constitution  of 
society  is  seen  to  be  possible.  The  demand  becomes  in¬ 
sistent  that  governments  shall  cease  to  exercise  arbitrary 
powers,  and  that  liberty  of  thought  and  action  within  the 
limits  prescribed  by  reason  shall  be  guaranteed  to  every 
individual.  It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  here  the  story  of  the 
rebellions  and  the  revolutions  through  which  the  demand 
has  been  enforced.  If  events  take  their  natural  course, 
the  normal  outcome  is  everywhere  the  same.  Charters 
and  guarantees  are  wrested  from  kings,  whose  divine 
right  has  ceased  to  inspire  fear.  Little  by  little,  legisla¬ 
tion  is  interwoven  with  precedent,  and  the  strong  fabric 
of  constitutional  law  is  wrought.  The  powers  of  govern¬ 
ments  are  limited,  and  their  duties  are  defined.  Freedom 
of  contract  also  is  established  as  the  legal  basis  of  the 
minor  relations  of  life. 

From  this  time  forth,  voluntary  organization,  under 
the  authority  and  the  protection  of  law,  can  assume  end¬ 
less  varieties  of  form  and  function.  The  social  constitu¬ 
tion  differentiates  and  redifferentiates,  until  it  becomes  a 
structure  of  exceeding  complexity,  delicately  adapted  to 
the  service  of  an  enterprising  and  progressive  people. 
It  becomes  more  and  more  distinct  from  the  social  compo¬ 
sition.  The  church  is  separated  from  the  organization  of 
the  state,  and  is  made  subject  to  the  political  sovereign. 
There  is  a  rapid  development  of  a  free,  decentralized, 
industrial  organization.  The  minor  forms  of  cooperative 
association  are  multiplied,  and  the  division  of  labour  is 
perfected. 

The  voluntary  type  of  organization  reacts  favourably 
upon  personal  liberty.  Many  facts  point  to  the  general¬ 
ization  that  freedom  of  membership  increases  with  the 
extension  and  the  specialization  of  association.  Exclu¬ 
siveness  is  difficult  to  maintain  when  several  organi- 


332 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


zations,  that  have  similar  objects  in  view,  compete  for 
approval  and  support.  It  is  therefore  difficult  for  an 
association  to  extend  its  membership  by  acts  of  conscious 
policy,  or  to  devote  itself  strictly  to  a  specific  work,  if  it 
attaches  non-essential  or  distasteful  conditions  to  mem¬ 
bership.  The  histories  of  political  parties,  of  religious 
denominations,  and  of  labour  organizations  abound  in 
confirmations  of  this  rule.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  with¬ 
out  actively  seeking  membership,  an  association  enlarges, 
the  growth  of  numbers  increases  the  diversity  of  experi¬ 
ences  and  of  ideas,  and  ensures  catholicity.  There  is 
much  inherent  democracy  in  mere  numbers. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  under  the  most 
favourable  circumstances  perfect  freedom  of  membership 
and  flexibility  of  plan  can  be  established  in  every  part  of 
the  social  constitution.  The  inertia  of  society  is  great; 
and  in  every  society  there  is  an  enormous  mass  of  “  sur¬ 
vivals,”  —  of  ancient  forms  and  venerable  prejudices. 
Much  of  the  purposive  organization  of  any  community 
is  old ;  it  is  a  heritage  from  many  generations.  It  has 
become  rigid,  and  its  administration  is  mechanical.  There 
are  other  organizations  of  later  origin  that  are  still  flexi¬ 
ble  ;  they  are  still  undergoing  change.  If  we  could 
ascertain  what  proportion  of  the  entire  social  constitu¬ 
tion  of  a  nation  is  old  and  rigid,  what  is  new  and  flexible, 
we  should  have  an  index  of  the  vitality  of  the  community, 
and  should  know  the  degree  of  its  success  in  adjusting 
itself  to  new  conditions,  perhaps  to  larger  opportunities. 
In  the  United  States,  for  example,  the  organizations  de¬ 
voted  to  the  extension  of  business  enterprises  and  organ¬ 
izations  for  promoting  political,  moral,  philanthropic,  and 
educational  reforms  are  collectively  a  larger  part  of  the 
social  constitution  than  they  are  in  any  other  nation. 
They  are  so  large  a  part,  indeed,  that  it  is  evident  that 
our  social  constitution  has  not  yet  begun  to  assume  its 
final  form.  Sociologically,  as  in  years,  we  are  yet  a  young 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


333 


people,  and  the  future  is  one  of  indefinite  possibilities, 
and  perhaps  of  many  surprises.  The  scientific  signifi¬ 
cance  of  these  facts  is  their  indication  that  the  immediate 
future  of  a  community  which  has  a  fixed  social  constitu¬ 
tion  can  be  predicted,  while  that  of  a  community  which 
has  a  flexible  and  changing  constitution  is  uncertain. 

While  the  development  of  liberalism  ensures  the  flexi¬ 
bility  of  the  social  constitution,  and  thereby  makes  social 
organization  a  more  efficient  instrument  for  achieving  the 
objects  of  life,  its  influence  upon  the  social  composition  is 
to  some  extent  disintegrating. 

The  religious-proprietary  family,  which  was  evolved  in 
the  later  stages  of  ethnogenic  evolution,  flourished  unim¬ 
paired  throughout  the  earlier  stages  of  civil  development. 
Marriages  were  not  governed  altogether  by  individual 
preference.  Religious,  economic,  and  social  considerations 
were  of  great  weight.  The  consent  of  parents  and  often 
that  of  other  relatives  was  necessary ;  for  the  supreme 
object  of  every  union  was  to  perpetuate  a  family,  a  patri¬ 
mony,  and  a  faith.  Liberalism,  substituting  contract  for 
custom,  introduces  new  conceptions  of  the  marriage  re¬ 
lation.  Individual  preferences  receive  a  consideration 
heretofore  denied  them.  Romantic  love  begins  to  play 
a  large  part  in  marriage  plans.  The  authority  of  the 
parent,  and  still  more  the  authority  of  the  family  in  its 
integrity,  is  weakened.  The  marriage  relation  itself  ceases 
to  be  regarded  as  a  sacrament ;  it  becomes  a  legal  relation, 
a  contract.  It  begins  to  be  thought  of  as  a  means  of  indi¬ 
vidual  pleasure  or  advantage,  and  the  duty  of  transmitting 
an  unimpaired  estate  and  of  maintaining  the  integrity  of 
a  family  ceases  to  be  a  supreme  consideration.  The  relig¬ 
ious-proprietary  family  thus  becomes  the  romantic  family, 
which  is  a  much  less  stable  institution.1 

Liberalism  impairs  also  the  cohesion  of  the  federal  state. 

1  Cf.  Pearson,  “  National  Life  and  Character,”  Chap-  Y. 


334 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  conception  of  contract  as  the  true  basis  of  all  social 
relations  suggests  the  thought  that  contract,  or  covenant, 
was  the  original  ground  of  federal  union.  The  solidar¬ 
ity  of  interests,  the  identity  of  blood,  the  unity  of  language 
and  tradition,  that  lay  back  of  the  covenant,  and  were  its 
raison  d’etre ,  are  forgotten.  The  right  of  secession  is 
avowed,  and  it  finds  many  able  defenders.  So  long  as 
interests  remain  harmonious,  no  immediate  harm  results 
from  these  beliefs,  but  they  are  dangerous,  and  if  from 
any  cause  a  commonwealth  becomes  embittered  they  may 
quickly  be  converted  into  a  justification  of  rebellion. 

Over  against  all  weaknesses  and  dangers,  however,  there 
stand  to  the  credit  of  liberalism  the  enormous  economic 
and  ethical  advantages  that  it  contributes  to  the  sum  of 
human  possessions.  Liberalism  alone  makes  possible  the 
gigantic  industrial  achievements  of  the  third  stage  of  civil¬ 
ization.  While  the  evolution  of  a  liberal  social  constitu¬ 
tion  is  a  consequence  of  commerce  among  other  forms  of 
international  intercourse,  it  is  antecedent  to  a  high  eco¬ 
nomic  development.  Adam  Smith  was  right  in  his  analy¬ 
sis  :  Division  of  labour  is  limited  by  the  extent  of  the 
market,  but  wealth  is  limited  by  the  division  of  labour. 

When  the  most  urgent  problems  of  constitutional  gov¬ 
ernment  have  been  solved,  men  turn  their  attention  seri¬ 
ously  to  the  task  of  improving  their  material  condition, 
and  give  themselves  earnestly  to  industrial  affairs.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  natural  resources  are  systematically  sur¬ 
veyed,  and  technical  processes  are  diligently  studied.  In¬ 
vention  busies  itself  with  making  the  practically  unlimited 
energies  of  nature  do  useful  work  for  man,  and  a  new 
thing  appears  under  the  sun,  —  a  marvellous  mechanism 
that  is  more  delicate  than  the  human  hand  and  more  ade¬ 
quate  than  armies  of  slaves ;  a  mechanism  through  which 
the  sun  that  man  in  his  days  of  ignorance  worshipped  is 
made  to  do  man’s  labour;  to  forge  his  iron,  to  weave  his 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


335 


cloth,  to  stamp  his  gold,  to  grind  his  corn,  to  propel  his 
ships,  and  to  record  his  thought.  Skill,  strength,  fidelity, 
foresight,  enterprise,  and  knowledge  are  combined  in  an 
industrial  organization  of  the  community  that  is  not  less 
complicated  than  the  material  machinery  which  it  guides. 
Through  these  agencies  nature  yields  up  a  bounty  of 
which  former  ages  never  dreamed.  Riches  are  acquired 
by  thousands,  and  the  most  substantial  comforts  of  life 
by  millions. 

The  increase  of  wealth  is  followed  by  a  far  more  rapid 
growth  of  population  than  any  that  occurred  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  social  evolution.  Birth-rates  may  not  rise,  but 
death-rates  greatly  diminish,  and  nations  begin  to  double 
their  numbers  in  a  generation.  Society  has  become  in  the 
highest  degree  demogenic. 

A  general  advance  in  material  well-being  and  a  gradual 
elevation  of  the  standard  of  living,  then  a  growth  of  popu¬ 
lation  until  it  becomes  increasingly  difficult  to  raise  the 
plane  of  living,1  then  another  era  of  economic  progress, — 
this  rhythm  seems  to  be  the  form  of  the  demogenic  process. 
The  whole  theory  of  population  needs  reexamination  in 
the  light  of  this  thought.  Invention  may  for  a  time  ensure 
such  an  abundant  production  of  the  bare  necessaries  of  life 
that  subsistence,  in  this  narrow  sense  of  the  word,  is  put 
far  in  advance  of  population.  It  would  be  radically 
wrong,  however,  to  conclude  that  the  Malthusian  philoso¬ 
phy  is  therefore  untrue.  Subsistence  is  more  than  neces¬ 
sary  food,  and  invention  is  rhythmical,  —  it  alternately 
flourishes  and  declines.  The  subsistence  that  is  of  eco¬ 
nomic  and  sociological  significance  is  the  amount  of  mate¬ 
rial  wealth  that  is  necessary  to  raise  the  general  plane  of 
living,  generation  after  generation.  During  the  ebb  of 

1  By  “  plane  of  living,”  I  mean  an  objective  fact  —  an  actual  possession 
and  enjoyment  of  certain  comforts  and  luxuries  —  in  distinction  from  the 
subjective  fact  that  is  properly  called  a  “standard  of  living.”  See  ante , 
p.  145. 


tUVv  c$l)><LSjT^ 

336  PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


invention  population  continues  to  increase  until  there  is  a 
real  pressure  upon  subsistence,  in  this  larger  sense  of  the 
word.  Two  results  follow.  One  is  that  preponderating 
influence  of  youth  to  which  Comte  rightly  attached  impor¬ 
tance  as  a  true  cause  of  progress.1  The  other  is  an  intense 
competition  that  sharpens  the  wits  of  the  successful  and 
eliminates  the  unsuccessful.  Invention  has  its  day  again, 
and  industrial  progress  begins  anew. 

The  statement  of  the  Malthusian  law  therefore  must 
include  both  a  clause  recognizing  man’s  desire  to  improve 
his  material  condition,  and  a  limiting  clause,  like  that 
which  is  always  included  in  the  formula  of  the  diminish¬ 
ing  returns  from  land.  So  long  as  agricultural  methods 
and  machinery  are  improving,  land  may  yield  increasing 
returns ;  but  in  any  given  state  of  industry  and  the  arts 
increasing  applications  of  labour  and  capital  beyond  a  cer¬ 
tain  limit  fail  to  bring  forth  proportional  rewards.  In  like 
manner  the  corrected  Malthusian  formula  is :  In  any  given 
state  of  industry  and  the  arts  population  tends  to  increase 
faster  than  it  is  possible  to  raise  the  general  plane  of 
living.  Or,  to  put  it  in  the  technical  phraseology  of  the 
latest  economics:  As  long  as  industry  is  kinetic  (as  it 
can  be  only  under  the  regime  of  private  initiative  and 
free  competition),  a  population  may  indefinitely  increase 
while  indefinitely  bettering  its  material  condition,  and  the 
prophets  of  a  socialistic  millennium  may  sneer  at  Malthus  ; 
but  when  industry  is  static,  as  socialism  would  make  it 
forever,  the  full  rigour  of  the  Malthusian  law  must  be 
felt,  and  socialism  must  prove  to  be  only  the  negative  com¬ 
plement  of  the  perpetual-motion  delusion. 

A  sufficient  proof  of  Malthusianism  as  thus  stated  is 
found  in  recent  phenomena  which  have  been  strangely 
interpreted  by  anti-Mai thusian  writers.  Where  civiliza¬ 
tion  is  most  highly  developed,  as,  for  example,  in  France 
and  in  New  England,  the  birth-rate  has  decreased.  The 
1  “Cours  de  philosophie  positive,”  Vol.  IV.,  pp.  636,  637. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


337 


studies  of  Professor  Levasseur,1  M.  Dumont,2  Miss  Brow¬ 
nell,3  and  others  have  established  the  truth  of  Mr.  Spencer’s 
generalization  that  the  birth-rate  diminishes  as  the  rate  of 
individual  evolution  increases.4  The  lowering  of  the  birth¬ 
rate  is  caused  in  part  by  physiological  changes,  as  is  shown 
by  the  coincidence  of  low  birth-rates  with  high  rates  of 
death  from  nervous  diseases.5  Primarily,  however,  the 
cause  is  psychological ;  there  is  a  deliberate  prevention  of 
births.  The  “preventive  check”  to  the  growth  of  popu¬ 
lation  has  come  into  general  use.  That  writers  of  ability 
should  discover  in  this  fact  a  disproof  of  the  Malthusian 
theory6  is  certainly  remarkable.  They  might  as  rationally 
claim  that  it  is  disproved  by  famine.  When  an  entire  pop¬ 
ulation  voluntarily  diminishes  its  birth-rate,  it  gives  indubi¬ 
table  proof  that  it  severely  feels  the  pressure  of  its  natural 
tendency  to  increase  faster  than  it  is  possible  to  raise  the 
general  plane  of  living.7 

The  growth  of  wealth  and  of  numbers  and  the  greater 
tension  of  life  increase  the  heterogeneity  of  civil  popula¬ 
tions,  and  establish  complex  relations  between  the  differ¬ 
ent  race  elements  and  the  different  strata  of  population 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  division  of  labour  in  the  social 
constitution  on  the  other  hand.  The  demotic  composition 
becomes  more  varied,  the  differences  of  vitality  and  of 

1  “  La  population  frangaise.” 

2  “  Depopulation  et  civilisation.” 

3  “  The  Significance  of  a  Decreasing  Birth-rate,”  Annals  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science ,  Vol.  V.,  No.  1,  July,  1894. 

*  “  The  Theory  of  Population  deduced  from  the  General  Law  of  Ani¬ 
mal  Fertility,”  Westminster  Review ,  Vol.  L,  No.  2,  1852;  and  “The 
Principles  of  Biology,”  Vol.  II.,  Part  VI. 

5  Brownell,  op.  cit. 

6  For  example  Nitti,  “  La  popolazione  e  il  sistema  sociale.” 

7  Among  recent  contributions  to  the  Malthusian  discussion,  see  espe¬ 
cially  Patten,  “  The  Law  of  Population  restated,”  in  the  Political  Science 
Quarterly,  Vol.  X.,  No.  1,  March,  1895,  and  in  the  same  number  of  the 
same  journal  Professor  Hadley’s  review  of  Nitti. 


338 


PKINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ability  become  greater,  and  there  appears  a  tendency  to 
identify  each  race  element,  each  degree  of  vitality,  and 
each  grade  of  ability  with  a  definite  place  in  the  social 
organization. 

Different  nations,  possessing  unequal  natural  advan¬ 
tages,  and  enjoying  unequal  degrees  of  constitutional  lib¬ 
erty,  are  unequally  prosperous,  and  their  citizens,  free 
now  to  seek  their  economic  and  political  well-being  in  any 
part  of  the  world,  migrate  more  readily  than  in  any  former 
age.  In  fact,  so  sensitive  have  they  become  to  every 
change  in  industrial  conditions  that  the  increase  and  de¬ 
crease  of  migration  is  as  regular  as  the  rise  and  fall  of 
prices.  Moreover,  the  thousands  of  migrating  men  seek 
not  only  those  parts  of  the  world  where  their  labour  is 
likely  to  be  best  rewarded,  but  they  seek  also  those  places 
in  the  industrial  organization  in  which  the  greatest  returns 
are  offered  for  the  work  which  they  know  how  to  per¬ 
form.  Here,  however,  the  economic  causation  is  greatly 
complicated  with  the  influence  of  the  consciousness  of 
kind. 

If,  in  the  United  States  for  example,  each  incoming 
nationality  were  distributed  by  purely  economic  motives 
throughout  all  occupations  and  organizations,  its  influence 
as  a  disturbing  factor  in  social  development  would  be 
slight.  It  is  because  each  nationality  shows  a  strong 
tendency  to  mass  itself,  geographically,  politically,  and 
industrially,  that  we  have  a  serious  immigration  problem. 

For  many  years  the  democratic  proclivities  of  the  Irish 
in  the  Atlantic  coast  states,  and  the  republican  prejudices 
of  the  Ohio  valley  Germans,  have  been  relied  upon  with 
reasonable  certainty  by  the  politicians.  In  religion  the 
segregation  is  even  more  pronounced.  It  is  shown  not 
only  by  the  familiar  association  of  certain  nationalities 
with  Romanism  and  of  others  with  Protestantism,  but  also 
by  the  less  familiar  lines  of  separation  within  the  same 
faith ;  such  as  may  now  be  seen  in  certain  New  England 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


839 


and  northwestern  towns,  where  the  Irish,  French  Canadian, 
and  Polish  Roman  Catholic  church  organizations  are  dis¬ 
tinct,  and  are  frequently  jealous  of  each  other. 

In  choosing  their  occupations,  the  American  people  as  a 
whole,  both  native-  and  foreign-born,  prefer  agriculture.1 
Their  second  choice  is  professional  and  personal  services  ; 
their  third  is  manufacturing,  mechanical,  and  mining  in¬ 
dustries;  and  their  fourth  is  trade  and  transportation. 
The  native-born  choose  their  pursuits  in  the  same  order 
but  with  a  yet  stronger  preference  for  agriculture.  Upon 
comparing  the  choices  of  the  foreign-born  by  nationalities, 
it  is  found  that  only  the  Scandinavians  have  the  same 
preferences  as  the  native-born.  The  Germans  and  the 
immigrants  from  Great  Britain,  including  the  Welsh  and 
the  Scotch,  agree  in  their  choices,  which  are :  first,  manu¬ 
facturing,  mechanical,  and  mining  occupations;  second, 
agriculture  ;  third,  professional  and  personal  services ;  and 
fourth,  trade  and  transportation.  The  Irish  go  first  into 
personal  services ;  secondly,  into  manufacturing  and  min¬ 
ing  pursuits ;  thirdly,  into  agriculture ;  and  fourthly,  into 
trade  and  transportation.  But  if  allowance  for  domestic 
servants  is  made,  the  order  stands :  first,  manufacturing 
and  mining  pursuits ;  second,  personal  services ;  third, 
agriculture;  and  fourth,  trade  and  transportation.  This 
is  the  order  of  preference  shown  by  the  French  Canadians 
also,  and  by  the  statistical  group  called  “  all  other  coun¬ 
tries.” 

Some  of  the  smaller  segregations  are  yet  more  interest¬ 
ing.  For  example,  the  Germans  have  practically  displaced 
other  nationalities  in  the  crafts  of  the  baker,  the  butcher, 
the  cabinet  maker,  the  cigar  maker,  the  cooper,  the  leather 
currier,  the  marble  and  stone  cutter,  the  mason  and  the 
tailor.2  The  special  statistics  of  the  Jewish  population 

1  See  Mayo-Smith,  “The  Influence  of  Immigration  on  the  United  States 
of  America,”  p.  68. 

2  Ibid.,  pp.  71,  72. 


340 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


obtained  by  tbe  Eleventh  Census  disclose  in  that  race  an 
overwhelming  preference  for  the  pursuits  that  are  the 
fourth  choice  of  all  other  nationalities.  Of  the  total 
18,115  males  of  Hebrew  race  reported  as  having  some 
definite  occupation,  14,525  were  engaged  in  commercial 
occupations,  of  some  kind;  only  383  were  employed  in 
agriculture,  and  only  84  were  labourers. 

The  advancing  specialization  of  industrial  and  social 
functions  multiplies  the  inequalities  of  vitality  throughout 
all  distributions  of  the  population.  The  foreign-born,  who 
by  their  change  of  residence  have  in  general  bettered  their 
condition,  have  a  relatively  high  birth-rate ;  but  on  account 
of  an  imperfect  adaptation  to  new  conditions  of  life,  the 
death-rate  of  their  children  is  high.  Older  elements  in 
the  population  have  a  death-rate  that  by  contrast  is  low, 
and  a  birth-rate  that  also  is  low.  In  the  geographical  dis¬ 
tribution  of  population  those  groups  that  are  participating 
in  the  highest  civilization  and  that  are  ambitious  to  raise 
their  plane  of  living,  but  whose  resources  are  not  expand¬ 
ing  and  whose  industrial  methods  are  not  rapidly  im¬ 
proving,  have  a  low  birth-rate  and  a  low  death-rate.  Such 
groups  compose,  for  example,  the  populations  of  the  valleys 
of  the  Loire  and  the  Garonne  in  France,1  and  the  popu¬ 
lations  of  New  England  and  the  middle  states  in  the 
United  States.  Such  groups  as  the  populations  of  Ille-et- 
Vilaine  and  Basses-Pyr6n6es  in  France,  which  still  lead  a 
relatively  simple  life,  and  such  groups  as  the  populations 
of  the  northwestern  commonwealths  of  the  United  States, 
which  are  yet  exploiting  new  resources  by  improving 
methods,  have  the  high  vitality  which  is  expressed  by  the 
coincidence  of  a  high  birth-rate  with  a  low  death-rate.2  In 
the  distribution  of  population  by  occupations,  the  con¬ 
trasts  are  yet  more  marked.  The  textile  and  clothing 
industries,  many  chemical  industries,  cutlery  grinding,  and 

1  Levasseur,  “La  population  frangaise,”  Vol.  II.,  pp.  27, 160. 

*  Ibid. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


341 


typesetting  rapidly  consume  vitality.  Many  railroad  em¬ 
ployees  are  victims  of  nervous  diseases.  Agriculture, 
lumbering,  mining,  and  fishing,  on  the  contrary,  are  in  a 
high  degree  favourable  to  vitality ;  the  people  engaged  in 
these  pursuits  have  relatively  high  birth-rates,  and  rela¬ 
tively  low  death-rates  from  other  than  accidental  causes. 

Differences  of  ability  even  more  than  differences  of 
vitality  are  increased  by  demogenic  evolution.  From  the 
three  personality  classes  are  developed  three  psychical 
ranks.  The  first  rank  is  identical  with  the  first  person¬ 
ality  class;  it  consists  of  those  individuals  that  have  more 
than  average  intellectual  ability.  The  second  psychical 
rank  coincides  with  the  ablest  half  of  the  second  per¬ 
sonality  class.  It  includes  all  normally  endowed  indi¬ 
viduals  that  have  ability  enough  to  conduct  business 
undertakings  on  a  modest  scale  and  therefore  to  maintain 
their  economic  independence.  The  third  rank  includes 
the  less  competent  half  of  the  second  and  the  entire  third 
personality  class.  These  differences  of  ability  correspond 
closely  to  differences  of  social  function,  and  roughly  to 
differences  of  economic  condition.  The  first  psychical 
rank  does  the  directive  work  of  society,  in  politics,  busi¬ 
ness,  the  professions,  science,  and  art.  The  middle  rank 
is  mentally  and  morally  independent,  and  is  critical  rather 
than  originative  and  directive.  It  accepts  the  advice  and 
leadership  of  the  first  rank,  but  in  its  own  way,  applying 
or  modifying  with  self-confident  judgment.  The  third 
rank  does  the  closely  directed  work,  and  without  some 
supervision  would  be  almost  helpless.  Economically  the 
correspondence  is  not  so  close.  The  first  psychical  rank 
includes  most  of  the  very  wealthy,  but  also  some  of  the 
poor  and  many  of  those  who  are  in  merely  comfortable 
circumstances.  The  people  of  the  second  rank  enjoy  the 
rewards  of  thrift.  In  the  aggregate,  they  own  a  great  part 
of  the  property  of  the  commonwealth.  The  third  rank  is 
poor. 


342 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  demographic  relations  thus  far  described  are  yet 
further  combined.  The  vitality  ranks  and  the  psychical 
ranks  are  not  independent  of  one  another.  The  second 
psychical  rank  coincides  with  the  first  vitality,  aud  the 
first  psychical  with  the  second  vitality  rank.  The  first 
psychical  rank,  however,  is  descended  from  the  first 
vitality  rank,  and  the  third  vitality  rank  is  in  part  de¬ 
scended  from  the  first  psychical  rank.  Finally,  the  first 
vitality  and  second  psychical  rank  is  composed  largely  of 
the  rural,  while  the  remaining  ranks  consist  largely  of  the 
city  population. 

We  owe  the  theory  of  the  population  system  mainly  to 
the  labours  of  Dr.  George  Hansen.1  The  first  vitality 
rank  Dr.  Hansen  identifies  with  a  rural  land-owning  popu¬ 
lation,  including  both  gentlemen  and  peasant  proprietors. 
Leading  a  healthy  life,  and  so  far  assured  of  a  comfortable 
subsistence  as  to  be  relatively  free  from  anxiety  about  the 
future,  the  land-owning  population  has  a  superabundant 
vitality  and  multiplies  in  something  like  the  geometrical 
progression  of  the  earlier  Malthusian  formula.  The  in¬ 
crease  swells  the  population  of  the  towns ;  there  is  an  end¬ 
less  procession  of  ambitious  youth  from  rural  homes  to 
city  desks.  The  energetic  force  their  way  into  business 
and  the  professions,  and  so  also  do  many  determined  indi¬ 
viduals  from  the  working  classes  who  succeed  in  the  fierce 
struggle  to  rise  in  life.  Competition  becomes  intense ; 
only  the  strongest  maintain  their  footing  and  withstand 
the  wear  and  tear.  The  unsuccessful  sink  into  the  third 
vitality  rank,  which,  like  the  second,  is  directly  fed  also 
from  the  country,  since  men  and  women  who  have  not  the 
ability  or  the  desire  to  become  independent  land-owners, 
although  they  may  not  expect  to  get  into  business,  even 
as  small  tradesmen,  flock  to  the  cities,  nevertheless,  as 
artisans,  common  labourers,  and  servants. 

Thus,  according  to  Dr.  Hansen,  land-owning  and  country 
1  See  “  Die  drei  Bevdlkerungsstuien.” 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


343 


occupations  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  intense  competition 
of  business  and  professional  life  in  the  towns  on  the  other 
hand,  are  the  causes  of  a  ceaseless  movement  of  population, 
the  stages  of  which  constitute  a  well-marked  demotic 
system.  The  land-owning  population  is  the  great  seed-bed 
of  society.  The  business  and  professional  classes  are  the 
selected  and  transplanted  plants,  whose  flowering  in  wealth, 
learning,  culture,  and  manners  is  the  choicest  product  of 
civilization,  which,  however,  is  bought  at  the  cost  of  a 
relative  sterility.  The  working  classes  are  composed  of 
the  stunted  and  the  defeated.  The  level  of  the  vitality 
and  of  the  psychical  rank  to  which  they  belong  is  kept 
down  by  the  loss  of  their  best  individual  members,  who 
struggle  up  to  independent  positions,  and  by  accessions  of 
the  unsuccessful  from  the  second  vitality  rank. 

This  description  of  the  demographic  system  is  approxi¬ 
mately  correct,  but  only  approximately.  Statistics  confirm 
it  in  part ;  but  Dr.  Hansen  has  confused  many  things  that 
ought  to  be  discriminated.  In  Europe  and  in  America  the 
towns  are  growing  rapidly  at  the  expense  of  the  country, 
but  this  does  not  prove  that  the  city  population  is  only  a 
later  stage  in  the  vital  development  of  the  country  popu¬ 
lation.  It  therefore  does  not  prove  that  the  second  and 
third  vitality  ranks,  which  are  identical  with  the  city  popu¬ 
lation,  are  only  later  stages  in  the  development  of  a  first 
vitality  rank,  which  is  identical  with  the  rural  population. 
To  prove  such  propositions,  it  would  be  necessary  to  show 
that  city  death-rates  actually  exceed  city  birth-rates,  so 
that  without  rural  immigration  the  urban  population  would 
steadily  diminish.  If  statistics  showed  this  relation,  there 
would  be  no  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  vitality  ranks, 
in  so  far  as  they  correspond  to  the  separation  of  urban 
from  rural  dwellers,  are  not  more  independent  genealogi¬ 
cally  than  they  are  politically  or  industrially.  What  is  in 
fact  shown  is  that  the  natural  increase  of  the  city  popula¬ 
tion  is  slower  than  the  natural  increase  of  the  entire  popu- 


344 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


lation.  To  some  extent,  therefore,  the  urban  population 
is  a  later  stage  in  the  vital  movement  of  the  country  popu¬ 
lation  ;  to  some  extent  it  is  a  later  stage  in  the  vital  move¬ 
ment  of  the  town  population  itself.  Moreover,  the  two 
elements  are  of  course  not  separated.  They  are  continually 
uniting  in  marriage,  so  that,  to  a  very  considerable  degree, 
the  whole  town  population  is  directly  or  indirectly  of  rural 
descent.  Therefore  while  we  cannot  say  that  the  second 
and  third  vitality  ranks  are  only  later  stages  in  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  the  first  rank,  if  we  assume  an  identity  of  the  first 
vitality  rank  with  the  rural  population,  and  of  the  second 
and  third  ranks  with  the  town  population,  we  can  say  that 
the  three  ranks  are  vitally  connected.  The  second  and 
third  ranks  are  largely  dependent  on  the  first  rank,  which 
is  independent  of  them.  The  third  rank  is  largely  depen¬ 
dent  on  the  second,  which  is  much  less  dependent  on  the 
third,  though  not  wholly  independent  of  it. 

The  assumption,  however,  of  complete  identity  between 
the  first  vitality  rank  and  a  land-owning  and  land-working 
population,  will  not  bear  close  examination;  much  less  will 
the  further  assumption  of  identity  between  the  town  popu¬ 
lation  and  the  second  and  third  vitality  ranks.  Dr.  Hansen 
would  not  pretend  that  the  identity  is  perfect;  but  he 
makes  too  little  allowance  for  the  overlappings  and  cross¬ 
classifications.  The  land-owner  must  not  be  too  sharply 
separated  from  the  capitalist.  In  the  first  vitality  rank 
are  business  and  professional  families  that  own  no  land, 
and  working  families  that  own  neither  land  nor  capital. 
Many  land-owning  country  families,  again,  are  in  the 
second  and  third  vitality  ranks.  Besides  it  is  not  true 
that  the  directors  of  affairs  and  the  intellectual  classes 
generally  are  found  only  in  towns,  or  that  the  towns  only 
have  the  manual  workers.  The  actual  relations,  then,  are 
complicated,  yet  the  groupings  and  the  progressive  move¬ 
ments  from  group  to  group  are,  on  the  whole,  such  as  to 
constitute  a  system. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


345 


The  gradations  and  the  distributions  of  population  that 
result  in  the  evolution  of  a  demotic  system,  result  also  in 
a  democratic  development  of  the  social  mind.  The  popu¬ 
lation  rank  that  earns  wages  by  manual  labour  confronts 
the  rank  that  directs  activity  and  accumulates  wealth. 
The  wage-earners  are  well  acquainted  with  one  important 
fact  of  history.  They  know  that  the  commercial  class 
once  demanded  and  obtained  a  share  in  the  political  power 
that  had  been  monopolized  by  the  well-born.  They  have 
seen  how  governments  have  been  used  to  shape  economic 
conditions  and  to  control  the  distribution  of  wealth,  and 
they  reason  that  the  labourer  must  share  in  the  law-mak¬ 
ing  power  before  he  can  hope  to  share  largely  in  the 
results  of  economic  progress.  They  observe  that  the  suf¬ 
frage  has  been  associated  with  property-owning  and  with 
the  payment  of  direct  taxes,  and  accordingly  they  demand 
an  unrestricted  manhood  suffrage.  The  demand  is  effec¬ 
tive  because  it  is  backed  by  the  promise  of  votes  to  the 
party  that  will  grant  the  franchise,  just  as  the  demand  of 
the  merchants  in  the  thirteenth  century  was  effective 
because  it  was  backed  by  the  offer  of  revenues  to  the  king. 
Now  one  party  and  now  another  enlarges  the  electorate 
by  extending  the  franchise  to  a  particular  section  of  the 
working  class,  as  the  English  Tories,  for  example,  have 
extended  it  to  the  town-artisans,  and  the  English  Liberals 
to  the  agricultural  labourers,  and  as  both  of  the  great 
parties  in  the  United  States  have  extended  it,  the  one  to 
immigrant  labourers  and  the  other  to  emancipated  slaves. 

Democracy  thus  established  in  the  electorate  soon 
democratizes  the  conception  of  the  functions  of  the  state. 
The  demand  is  next  made  that  the  government  shall  be 
developed  into  a  gigantic  agency  for  the  improvement  of 
the  working  masses.  The  state  is  called  upon  to  assume 
vast  educational  and  sanitary  responsibilities.  At  the 
same  time  an  increasingly  insistent  demand  is  heard  for 
systems  of  taxation  that  will  throw  the  cost  of  public 


346 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


undertakings  upon  the  well-to-do.  When  Lassalle  in  1862 
included  the  abolition  of  indirect  taxation  in  his  working- 
man’s  programme,  there  were  few  indications  of  popular 
interest  in  that  subject,  and  subsequently  the  support  of 
the  protective  policy  by  many  workingmen  in  Europe  and 
in  the  United  States  raised  a  doubt  as  to  whether  Lassalle 
had  not  misread  the  democratic  mind.  Recently,  however, 
the  single  tax  movement,  many  experiments  in  progressive 
taxation,  and  the  growing  scepticism  of  wage-earners  about 
the  benefits  of  protection,  have  demonstrated  Lassalle’s 
insight. 

These  ideas  and  purposes  are  not  confined  to  the  wage¬ 
earning  classes.  Both  the  ideas  and  the  purposes  appeal, 
as  the  mention  of  Lassalle’s  name  reminds  us,  to  many 
of  the  wealthy  and  the  learned,  who  believe  that  essen¬ 
tial  justice  can  be  realized  only  in  a  social  democracy. 
Adopted  and  defended  by  men  of  culture,  democratic 
ideas  gradually  transform  public  opinion  and  shape  the 
popular  ideals. 

The  differentiation  of  the  urban  from  the  rural  popula¬ 
tion  is  sharpened  at  some  points  by  democracy.  In  the 
long  run,  however,  democracy  tends  to  establish  an  intel¬ 
lectual  solidarity  of  the  country  and  the  town,  and  thereby 
contributes  to  an  important  development  of  the  social  con¬ 
stitution  ;  a  development  in  which  the  economic  division 
of  labour  between  the  country  and  the  town,  which  has 
existed  for  centuries,  is  supplemented  by  a  division  of 
social  functions.  The  country  produces  population,  energy, 
and  original  ideas,  —  the  raw  materials  of  social  life,  —  as 
it  produces  food  and  the  raw  materials  of  manufactures. 
The  city  combines  ideas  and  thus  forms  the  social  mind. 
In  exchange  for  the  streams  of  fresh  life  that  pour  in  upon 
it  from  farm  and  village,  it  sends  forth  to  every  rural  com¬ 
munity,  and  even  to  the  isolated  homestead,  stimulating 
currents  of  thought  and  of  moral  enthusiasm.  It  quickens 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


347 


social  instincts  and  awakens  interests  in  men  and  women 
whose  lives  were  else  monotonous  and  hard.  It  raises 
their  standards  and  puts  before  them  formulated  policies 
for  their  consideration.  Genius  is  rarely  born  in  the  town. 
The  world’s  great  faiths  have  germinated  in  the  desert,  or 
among  mountain  heights.  Its  great  policies  have  been 
suggested  by  unsophisticated  men.  It  owes  its  great  dis- 
coveries  and  its  immortal  creations  to  those  who  have  lived 
with  nature  and  with  simple  folk ;  but  the  creation  and 
the  discovery,  the  policy  and  the  faith,  have  lifted  and 
transformed  the  race  only  when  they  have  subsequently 
been  fashioned  by  the  mind,  and  have  been  charged  with 
power  from  the  heart  of  the  multitude. 

Material  and  intellectual  progress  is  not  an  unmixed 
good.  Progress  costs  not  only  effort  but  also  suffering. 
Every  discovery  and  every  invention  destroys  some  busi¬ 
ness  and  throws  wage-earners  out  of  employment.  Every 
development  in  social  organization  breaks  up  long-estab¬ 
lished  relations.  Moreover,  these  costs  of  progress  are  for 
the  most  part  borne  vicariously.  The  beneficiaries  of  new 
methods  or  of  new  arrangements  themselves  rarely  suffer 
the  distress  that  is  caused  by  the  destruction  of  the  old 
order.  Some  of  those  that  are  displaced  by  social  or 
industrial  changes  quickly  find  their  way  into  new  posi¬ 
tions.  Others  have  no  power  of  adaptation.  They  sink 
to  a  lower  plane  of  living  and  never  recover  from  their 
misfortunes. 

The  cost  of  progress  takes  also  the  form  of  a  moral  and 
physiological  degeneration,  which  is  caused  by  excessive 
activity  and  the  over-stimulation  of  ambition.  The  greater 
the  rate  of  progress,  the  heavier  does  this  cost  become  ; 
the  faster  the  march,  the  larger  is  the  number  of  the 
exhausted  who  fall  by  the  way.  Progress,  like  every 
other  form  of  motion  in  the  universe,  starts  reactions 
against  itself. 


348 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Degeneration  manifests  itself  in  the  protean  forms  of 
suicide,  insanity,  crime,  and  vice,  which  most  abound  in 
the  highest  civilizations,  where  the  tension  of  life  is 
extreme,  and  in  those  places  from  which  civilization  has 
ebbed  and  from  which  population  has  been  drained,  leav¬ 
ing  a  discouraged  remnant  to  struggle  against  deteriorat¬ 
ing  conditions. 

In  Europe  the  two  marked  centres  where  the  rate  of 
suicide  is  always  high  are  Paris  and  the  kingdom  of 
Saxony.  As  the  distance  from  these  centres  increases, 
the  rate  of  suicide  grows  less.1  In  all  the  countries  of 
Europe,  except  Norway,  suicide  has  been  increasing  since 
the  beginning  of  this  intensely  active  century.  In  France 
the  number  of  suicides  in  a  million  inhabitants  more  than 
trebled  between  1827  and  1875;  in  Prussia  it  more  than 
doubled.2  In  England  it  rose  from  62  in  1830  to  85  in 
1891.3  In  Massachusetts  the  proportion  was  69  to  a  mill¬ 
ion  of  population  in  1851-55  and  90.9  in  1881-85.4 

The  statistics  of  insanity  are  imperfect,  but  there  is  no 
doubt  that  insanity  has  greatly  increased  within  a  genera¬ 
tion  and  is  still  increasing,  and  that  it  is  most  prevalent 
where  life  is  intense  or  hard.  In  the  North  Atlantic 
division  of  the  United  States  there  were  enumerated  in 
1890,  2385  insane  persons  in  each  one  million  inhabitants ; 
in  the  Western  division,  1878;  in  the  North.  Central  divi¬ 
sion,  1647 ;  and  in  the  South  Central  division,  only  959. 
Allowance  must  be  made  for  the  larger  number  of  unenu¬ 
merated  deranged  persons  in  some  sections  than  in  others, 
but  this  does  not  account  for  the  whole  difference.6  The 

1  Mayo-Smith,  “  Statistics  and  Sociology,”  p.  243,  and  Morselli, 
“  Suicide,”  pp.  44,  132,  181. 

2  Morselli,  op.  cit.,  pp.  20,  21. 

3  Ibid.,  p.  26,  and  Mayo-Smith,  op.  cit.,  p.  242. 

4  Davis  R.  Dewey,  “  Statistics  of  Suicide  in  New  England,”  Publi¬ 
cations  of  the  American  Statistical  Association,  New  Series,  Nos.  18,  19, 
June-September,  1892. 

6  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh  Census,  Part  II.,  p.  133. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


349 


high  rate  of  insanity  in  the  lonely  farming  districts  of  the 
United  States,  when  rightly  interpreted,  confirms  the  fore¬ 
going  generalization.  The  isolated  farmer  and  his  family 
have  begun  to  be  affected  by  the  strain  of  modern  life  in 
a  deplorable  way.  They  are  no  longer  ignorant  of  the 
luxuries  of  the  towns  and  a  simple  manner  of  life  no  longer 
satisfies  them.  The  house  must  be  remodelled  and  refur¬ 
nished;  the  table  must  be  varied;  clothing  must  be  “in 
style,”  and  the  horses,  carriages,  and  harnesses  must  be 
more  costly.  The  impossibility  of  maintaining  this  scale 
of  expense  under  existing  agricultural  conditions  embit¬ 
ters  life,  and  finally,  in  many  cases,  destroys  the  mental 
balance. 

That  crime,  vagabondage,  drunkenness,  and  other  forms 
of  vice  increase  with  the  multiplication  of  those  failures  in 
the  life-struggle  that  are  attributable  to  industrial  changes, 
redistributions  of  population,  and  a  feverish  activity,  is  a 
conclusion  that  is  amply  supported  by  statistical  investi¬ 
gation.  Like  insanity,  crime  occurs  most  frequently  in 
densely  populated  towns  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  hand  in  partially  deserted  rural  districts.  Murder 
is  a  phenomenon  of  both  the  frontier  life  of  an  advancing 
population  and  of  the  declining  civilization  in  its  rear; 
it  is  preeminently  the  crime  of  the  new  town  and  of 
the  decaying  town.1  Theft,  forgery,  embezzlement,  and 
offences  against  public  order  are  crimes  of  the  great  cities. 
Crimes  of  all  kinds  are  least  frequent  in  prosperous  agri¬ 
cultural  communities  and  in  thriving  towns  of  moderate 
size,  where  the  relation  of  income  to  the  standard  of  living 
is  such  that  the  life-struggle  is  not  severe.2 

Degeneracy  in  the  population  is  inevitably  followed  by 

1  See  Cook,  “Murders  in  Massachusetts,”  Publications  of  the  American 
Statistical  Association,  New  Series,  No.  23,  September,  1893. 

2  For  a  fuller  discussion  of  the  costs  of  progress,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  “The  Ethics  of  Social  Progress,”  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
Yol.  III.,  No.  2,  January,  1893. 


350 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


degeneration  in  both  the  social  composition  and  the  social 
constitution. 

The  unstable  organization  of  the  romantic  family  offers 
little  resistance  to  the  disintegrating  influence  of  morbid 
emotion  and  insane  ambition.  When  the  duty  of  main¬ 
taining  a  family  tradition  is  no  longer  acknowledged,  when 
religion  has  ceased  to  be  an  element  in  domestic  life,  when 
children  have  become  unwelcome,  and  marriage  is  viewed 
as  a  convenience  or  a  pleasure,  legal  obstacles  to  its  disso¬ 
lution  will  not  long  be  tolerated  by  a  community  of  irri¬ 
table,  sentimental,  and  egoistic  men  and  women  who  have 
found  life  disappointing.  A  clamour  for  more  liberal 
divorce  laws  is  sure  to  be  made.  Divorces  have  been 
rapidly  multiplying  throughout  Europe  and  the  United 
States  during  the  past  thirty  years. 1 

Degeneration  in  the  social  constitution  manifests  itself 
chiefly  in  the  disintegration  of  the  city.2  In  the  city  are 
all  the  startling  contrasts  of  civilization.  The  enormous 
disparity  of  wealth  in  which  a  highly  organized  industry 
has  resulted  is  here  revealed  to  every  eye.  Knowledge 
and  culture  that  are  the  perfect  fruit  of  all  human  prog¬ 
ress  until  now  live  face  to  face  with  brutish  ignorance. 
Into  this  dangerous  combination  of  conditions  enters 
the  demoralizing  factor  of  personal  degeneration.  Many 
of  the  rich,  though  happily  not  a  majority,  surrender 
themselves  to  the  mad  struggle  to  get  money  that  they 
know  not  how  to  use,  to  achieve  notoriety  even  though  it 
may  be  scandalous,  to  accomplish  anything  if  only  it  sur¬ 
passes  everything  that  has  hitherto  been  imagined.  Con¬ 
sumed  with  a  sense  of  their  own  importance,  the  degenerates 
of  this  class  become  more  and  more  exclusive.  Living  at 
the  centre  of  the  throbbing  life  of  humanity,  they  affect  to 

1  See  Wright,  “A  Report  on  Marriage  and  Divorce  in  the  United 
States,  1867  to  1886,  including  an  Appendix  relating  to  Marriage  and 
Divorce  in  Certain  Countries  in  Europe.” 

2  Cf.  Izoulet,  “La  cit6  moderne.” 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


351 


ignore  its  passions,  its  sorrows,  and  its  joys.  They  seek  to 
cut  themselves  off  from  all  part  in  a  work-a-day  world. 
They  deny  their  civic  obligations  and  stand  aloof  from 
politics,  as  from  something  fit  only  for  the  dirty. 

On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the  poor,  though  happily 
not  a  majority,  give  ear  to  anarchism,  or  seek  comfort  in 
the  socialistic  dream  of  a  world  where  labour  time-checks 
would  buy  everything  save  that,  the  love  of  which  is  said 
to  be  the  root  of  evil.  They  withdraw  themselves  as  far 
as  possible  from  contact  with  the  rich,  and  cherish  the 
hope  of  organizing  the  proletariat  into  an  irresistible  force, 
and  of  taking  possession  of  all  the  organs  of  government. 

Thus  is  civilization  menaced  by  dangers  perhaps  as 
grave  as  those  that  overshadowed  it  at  the  beginning.  It 
was  threatened  then  by  the  barbarism  beyond  its  walls. 
To-day  it  is  threatened  by  the  savagery  within  its  gates. 

The  limitations  and  the  reactions  of  progress  arrest  pub¬ 
lic  attention,  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  is  quickened 
by  the  spectacle  of  misery  in  the  midst  of  splendour,  and 
the  conscience  of  society  begins  to  demand  that  system¬ 
atic  efforts  shall  be  made  to  mitigate  suffering  and  thus  to 
minimize  the  dangers  that  threaten  the  social  order.  Pri¬ 
vate  philanthropy  vies  with  legislation  in  attempts  to 
diminish  poverty  and  crime,  and  ultimately  in  attempts  to 
improve  the  general  life-conditions  of  the  masses.  Much 
of  this  endeavour  is  sentimental,  and  not  a  little  of  it  is 
mischievous.  Gradually,  however,  the  intelligence  of  the 
community  is  enlisted,  and  philanthropic  passion  is  in  a 
measure  brought  under  the  direction  of  reason,  and  so  is 
made  more  efficient  for  good.  The  social  mind  begins  to 
undergo  a  profound  moral  experience ;  it  begins  to  develop 
an  ethical  character.  But  for  this  awakening  of  the  moral 
reason  dissolution  would  undo  the  work  of  social  evolution. 
Only  the  rational  ethical  consciousness  can  maintain  social 
cohesion  in  a  progressive  democracy. 


352 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


To  achieve  its  purpose  of  diminishing  the  costs  of  prog¬ 
ress,  the  ethical  consciousness  of  society  must  accomplish 
many  moral  reforms  in  social  activities,  and  these  must  be 
facilitated  by  some  constructive  changes  in  social  organi¬ 
zation. 

There  is  no  radical  cure  for  degeneration  but  in  a  pure 
and  sane  family  life,  which  disciplines  the  welcome  and 
untainted  child  in  the  robust  virtue  of  self-control,  and 
in  an  unswerving  allegiance  to  duty.  Here  and  there  a 
family  of  the  ethical  type  may  at  present  be  discovered. 
The  ethical  family  differs  as  much  from  the  romantic 
family,  as  the  romantic  family  differs  from  the  religious- 
proprietary  family.  To  perpetuate  a  patrimony  and  a 
faith,  the  religious-proprietary  family  sacrificed  the  incli¬ 
nations  of  individuals.  To  gratify  the  amatory  prefer¬ 
ences  of  individuals,  the  romantic  family  has  sacrificed 
patrimony  and  tradition ;  of  late,  it  has  even  gone  to  the 
extremity  of  sacrificing  children.  The  ethical  family 
sacrifices  individual  feelings  only  when  they  conflict  with 
right  reason  or  moral  obligation,  but  then  it  sacrifices 
them  without  hesitation.  It  regards  a  genuine  love  as 
the  most  sacred  thing  in  the  world  except  duty,  but  duty 
it  places  first,  and  in  the  list  of  imperative  duties  it  in¬ 
cludes  the  bearing  and  right  training  of  children  by  the 
vigorous  and  intelligent  portion  of  the  population. 

The  true  ethical  family  is  established,  therefore,  only  by 
the  marriage  of  a  man  and  woman  who,  in  all  sincerity, 
believe  that  their  union  is  justified  by  a  concurrence  of  four 
things,  namely;  an  unmistakable  affection,  compounded 
about  equally  of  passion,  admiration,  and  respect ;  physical 
fitness  for  parenthood;  ability  to  maintain  a  respectable 
and  pleasant  home  ;  and  a  high  sense  of  the  privilege  and 
the  duty  of  transmitting  their  qualities  and  their  culture 
to  their  children. 

The  ethical  family,  in  short,  subordinates  all  lesser  con¬ 
siderations  to  the  development  and  the  perpetuation  of 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


353 


that  rational  personality  which  is  the  supreme  end  for 
which  society  in  its  entirety  exists.  The  ethical  family 
does  all  that  the  other  types  of  the  family  at  their  best 
have  done,  and  much  more  besides.  It  transmits  a  patri¬ 
mony  and  a  name ;  it  offers  satisfaction  to  affection ;  and, 
in  addition,  it  consciously  selects,  cultivates,  and  trans¬ 
mits  the  fairer  fruits  of  a  rational  civilization. 

The  ethical  spirit,  working  upon  the  social  constitution, 
seeks  to  improve  the  forms  of  voluntary  cooperation  and 
the  organs  of  government.  The  possibilities,  both  of  free 
contract  and  of  authority,  are  more  carefully  studied. 
Society  becomes  more  reflectively  self-conscious,  more 
rationally  volitional. 

The  worst  mistake  that  political  philosophers  have 
made  has  been  their  unqualified  approval  or  condemna¬ 
tion  of  the  rule  of  laisser  faire.  No  sounder  rule  of 
practical  conduct  can  be  followed  as  long  as  we  are  con¬ 
templating  the  possibility  of  restraining  the  spontaneous 
activity  of  mature  and  normal  men ;  no  worse  rule  could 
be  devised  for  governing  our  conduct  towards  the  imma¬ 
ture  and  the  degenerate.  So  long  as  an  imperfect  family 
life  throws  upon  the  community  thousands  of  defective 
and  untrained  human  beings,  who  are  poorly  equipped  for 
the  life-struggle,  it  is  necessary  that  they  shall  be  not 
only  tenderly  assisted  when  they  suffer,  and  restrained 
when  they  do  mischief,  but  that  they  shall  also  be  disci¬ 
plined.  Neither  through  schools  nor  through  reforma¬ 
tories  can  society  in  its  collective  capacity  impart  the 
training  which  a  home  of  the  best  type  can  give,  but 
the  limits  of  possibility  have  not  yet  been  reached  by  the 
educational  agencies  of  either  the  state  or  voluntary 
philanthropic  bodies.  The  disciplinary  organs  of  the  so¬ 
cial  constitution  are  as  yet  very  imperfect,  and  an  ethi¬ 
cal  public  opinion  will  necessarily  be  concentrated  upon 
the  problem  of  improving  them.  Already  attention  is 
being  given  as  never  before  to  the  care  of  neglected  and 


354 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


dependent  children,  and  to  the  disciplinary  functions  of 
charitable  and  penal  institutions. 

All  this  means  that  society  will  ultimately  grow  into 
the  ethical  type,  and  that  the  ethical  type  will  demon¬ 
strate  its  superior  strength  and  its  fitness  to  survive. 

Mr.  Spencer’s  classification  of  societies  as  military  or 
industrial  recognizes  the  effects  of  habitual  pursuits  down 
to  the  time  when  the  work  of  nation-making  has  been 
accomplished  and  the  industrial  type  of  society  has  been 
permanently  established.  But  industrial  society  itself 
may  present  such  widely  different  characteristics  that  we 
may  legitimately  distinguish  two  great  sub-types,  and  may 
make  an  important  generalization  in  regard  to  them.  Mr. 
Spencer  himself  has  more  than  hinted  at  it,  in  his  various 
allusions  to  the  approaching  time  when  men  will  recognize 
that  work  is  for  life  and  life  not  for  work.1  The  habitual 
activities  of  the  industrial  society  may  be  predominantly 
of  the  wealth-getting  kind  or  they  may  be  in  a  large 
measure  of  intellectual  and  moral  kinds.  The  character 
of  the  society  will  vary  as  the  dominant  interests  and 
occupations  vary. 

From  such  indications  as  a  few  societies  have  already 
afforded,  and  from  such  further  indications  as  are  now 
thrusting  themselves  upon  observation  in  parts  of  Europe 
and  America,  it  may  be  inferred  that  in  a  community 
whose  life  is  a  tireless  pursuit  of  materialistic  ends  —  in 
which  money-getting  is  the  sum  of  success  —  there  will 
be  a  sharp  separation  of  the  successful  from  the  unsuccess¬ 
ful  classes,  and  an  exploitation  of  the  poor  by  the  rich  as 
wanton  and  as  merciless  as  was  any  exploitation  of  the 
weak  by  the  strong  in  societies  of  the  military  character. 
In  such  a  society  the  tools  of  the  wealthy  will  command 
office  and  power.  Even  the  laws  will  favour  the  prosperous 

1  See  especially  the  address  on  “  The  Americans,”  at  the  New  York 
banquet. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


355 


and  will  weigh  heavily  on  those  whose  struggle  is  against 
hope.  The  mercenary  spirit  will  corrupt  judgment  and 
religion  alike.  The  magistrates  of  the  nation  will  judge 
for  a  consideration,  the  priests  thereof  will  teach  for  hire, 
the  prophets  thereof  will  divine  for  money,  the  princes 
thereof  will  be  companions  of  thieves ;  every  one  loving 
gifts  and  following  after  rewards. 

This  is  an  extreme  picture.  We  may  hope  that  in  no 
society  will  the  quest  of  gold  so  completely  subvert  the 
mental  and  the  moral  life,  the  enjoyment  of  beauty,  and 
the  love  of  truth  as  to  separate  absolutely  the  wealthy 
from  the  poor,  or  to  throw  government  and  the  moulding 
of  institutions  wholly  into  the  hands  of  those  who  control 
the  material  means  of  existence.  Yet  that  a  plutocratic 
spirit  is  a  real  cause  of  social  disintegration,  is  beyond 
reasonable  doubt.  It  played  its  unworthy  part  in  the  fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire  and  in  the  ruin  of  the  mediaeval 
republics.  It  seriously  menaces  the  future  of  our  own 
free  institutions. 

The  results  of  activities  predominantly  moral  and  in¬ 
tellectual  have  been  occasionally  seen.  In  the  simple 
democracies  of  colonial  America,  and  of  the  early  western 
migration  beyond  the  Alleghanies,  there  was  a  virile  moral 
life  that  kept  all  other  interests  in  a  reasonable  subordi¬ 
nation.  The  men  of  those  days  could  defend  themselves 
on  occasion,  but  they  were  wholly  devoid  of  ambition  to 
found  a  strong  military  power.  They  could  toil  and  could 
endure  hardship  in  the  production  of  material  wealth,  but 
they  knew  how  to  use  their  wealth,  when  it  had  been 
honestly  gained,  in  the  promotion  of  other  ends.  Not  the 
factory  and  the  mart,  but  the  church,  the  common  school, 
and  the  freemen’s  meeting,  were  the  real  centres  of  social 
activity.  The  topics  of  discussion  were  not  the  prices  of 
stocks  and  the  interest  of  bonds,  but  the  rights  of  man 
and  the  problems  of  destiny. 

In  such  communities  there  may  be  —  in  the  earlier 


356 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


American  life  there  always  were  —  differences  of  social 
position ;  but  there  can  be  no  permanent  separation  of 
class  from  class.  There  can  be  no  systematic  exploitation 
of  the  weak  by  the  strong,  or  of  the  poor  by  the  well-to-do. 
Every  man  will  be  in  some  degree  his  brother’s  keeper. 
Laws  will  be  framed  for  the  conservation  of  moral  order 
and  civil  liberty,  not  for  the  creation  of  monopoly  in  the 
names  of  franchise  and  protection.  The  ideas  of  equal 
rights  and  of  common  interests  will  be  fundamental  in  the 
scheme  of  public  policy.  The  ideal  of  happiness  will 
seek  its  realization  in  the  health  and  comfort  and  honest 
pleasure  of  the  many,  in  the  enlarging  life  and  growing 
manhood  of  the  people,  in  sympathy,  and  in  sensitiveness 
to  truth  and  beauty  —  not  in  idleness  or  in  ostentation. 
It  was  the  rare  fortune  of  the  American  people  that  in  its 
formative  days  the  quick  moral  life  of  such  communities 
left  a  deep  impress  on  the  larger  life  of  the  nation.  The 
impress  has  not  been  effaced,  but  the  clear  lines  of  its 
beauty  have  been  broken  and  confused. 

The  data  have  now  been  presented  for  determining  and 
for  interpreting  the  fact  of  progress. 

The  conception  of  progress  has  undergone  many  changes. 
The  fact  of  progress  is  often  denied.  The  interpretations 
offered  by  those  who  admit  the  fact  are  various. 

As  elements  of  the  popular  notion  of  progress,  we  have 
the  thought  of  an  increasing  economic  prosperity,  —  mate¬ 
rial  abundance,  physical  well-being ;  the  thought  also  of  an 
evolution  of  social  structure  and  functions ;  and,  most  im¬ 
portant  of  all,  the  idea  of  a  developing  human  personality. 
Thus  Mr.  John  S.  Mackenzie  says1  that  the  well-being 
of  mankind  “consists  of  three  main  elements,”  namely, 
“  (1)  the  subjugation  of  nature,  (2)  the  perfection  of 
social  machinery,  and  (3)  personal  development,”  and  that 
“  true  progress  must  include  them  all.”  This  conception 
is  justified  by  scientific  analysis. 

1  An  “  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy,”  p.  297. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


357 


The  fact  of  progress  can  be  questioned  only  by  those 
who  would  deny  that  an  increase  of  physical  power  and  of 
material  resources  is  rightfully  called  progress.  Bagehot 1 
has  stated  the  problem  in  scientific  terms  by  inquiring  what 
might  be  meant  by  the  phrase  “  verifiable  progress,”  and 
within  what  limits  progress  is  verifiable.  He  points  out 
that  all  men  find  a  proof  of  progress  in  the  ability  of  one 
nation  to  sustain  itself  against  all  assaults,  and  to  conquer 
others.  This  is  a  progress  in  physical  power  that  admits 
of  no  dispute. 

In  like  manner,  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  modern 
times  the  great  western  nations  have  subdued  nature  by 
understanding  her  processes  and  by  turning  her  energies 
to  human  advantage.  This  fact  is  not  only  verifiable,  but 
the  verification  is  made  quantitative  by  means  of  statistical 
comparisons  of  increasing  supplies  of  means  of  communica¬ 
tion,  and  of  the  growth  of  capital.  The  amount  of  wheat, 
rye,  meat,  cotton,  and  wool,  per  capita ,  increases  from 
decade  to  decade,  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  to  lessen 
the  awful  sufferings  from  starvation  and  cold,  from  which, 
until  recent  years,  the  world  was  never  even  comparatively 
free,  is  an  advance  in  human  well-being. 

The  truth  that  has  been  less  clearly  seen  is  that  these 
admissions  about  material  improvement  by  implication  con¬ 
cede  the  whole  question  of  progress  under  all  its  aspects. 
Brute  force  does  not  create  material  well-being  or  enable 
nations  to  subdue  man  and  nature.  Material  advancement 
and  power  to  subjugate  enemies  implies  psychical  develop¬ 
ment,  both  intellectual  and  moral.  They  imply  the  growth 
of  scientific  knowledge  and  thought,  a  process  which,  it  is 
no  longer  necessary  to  contend,  calls  into  activity  every 
power  of  the  mind,  from  accurate  perception  to  creative 
imagination.  They  impty  increasing  discipline  in  cooper¬ 
ation,  increasing  forethought  for  the  future,  and  present 
self-denial.  They  imply  increasing  faith  in  mankind,  and 


1  “Physics  and  Politics.” 


358 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


exactness  in  keeping  agreements.  The  vast  fabric  of 
modern  industry  and  commerce  rests  on  credit,  and  credit 
is  based  on  the  trustworthiness  of  man.  In  whatever 
light  we  look  at  it,  the  assumption  that  we  can  have  mate¬ 
rial  betterment  without  the  mental  and  moral  elements  of 
progress  is  absurd.  The  total  psychical  life  of  a  conquer¬ 
ing  nation  is  greater  than  that  of  the  conquered.  The 
total  psychical  life  of  a  great  industrial  people  which  feeds 
the  nations  that  live  on  the  verge  of  starvation  is  immeas¬ 
urably  greater  than  is  that  of  the  peoples  that  are  fed.1 

The  two  great  factors  into  which  the  psychical  progress 
of  mankind  may  be  resolved  have  been  variously  estimated 
by  different  sociologists.  Comte  interpreted  progress  in 
terms  of  the  growth  of  reason.  Mr.  Spencer  and  Mr.  Fiske, 
following  the  teaching  of  Adam  Smith,  regard  the  growth 
of  sympathy  as  the  essential  thing. 

Subjectively,  progress  is  an  expansion  of  both  the  moral 
and  the  mental  life.2  Objectively,  the  result  of  expanding 
reason  and  enlarging  sympathy  is  a  multiplication  of  social 
relationships.  In  one  of  its  social  aspects  progress  is  the 
growth  of  the  relative  importance  of  free  association  as 
compared  with  that  of  relationships  that  are  created  and 
maintained  by  force.  This,  as  M.  Fouill^e  has  contended,3 
is  the  significance  of  the  doctrine  of  the  social  contract. 
Society  does  not  begin  in  contract,  but  an  association  held 
together  by  bonds  of  agreement  is  the  social  ideal.  Thus 
Rousseau  takes  pains  to  say  that  he  writes  of  men  as  they 
are,  and  of  laws  as  they  ought  to  be.4  When  he  talks  of 
a  life  according  to  nature,  he  means  by  “  nature  ”  what 
Aristotle  meant,  —  the  nature  or  the  characteristics  of  the 
developed  man.  His  “  Social  Contract  ”  describes  an  ideal ; 

1  Cf.  De  Greef,  “  Introduction  &  la  sociologie,”  deuxi&me  partie. 

2  Cf.  Guyau,  “L’art  au  point  de  vue  sociologique,”  and  “  Education  et 
h6reditd.” 

8  “  La  science  sociale  contemporaine.”  Cf.  also  De  Greef,  “  Introduc¬ 
tion  &  la  sociologie.” 

*  ‘‘Contrat  social,”  liv.  L,  par.  1. 


DEMOGENIC  ASSOCIATION 


359 


it  does  not  record  a  history.  Moreover,  —  and  this  is  the 
essential  point,  —  when  he  says  that  society  originates  in 
contract,  he  at  the  same  time  denies  the  name  society 
to  a  group  of  men  who  have  not  yet  brought  their  rela¬ 
tions  to  a  contract  basis.  To  quote  his  exact  words,  “  c’est 
si  l’on  veut,  une  agr^gation,  mais  non  pas  une  association.”  1 
In  other  words,  his  doctrine  is  that  society,  properly  so 
called,  originates  in  contract. 

But  none  of  these  phases  of  progress  is  an  interpretation 
of  progress,  though  each  of  them  in  its  turn  has  been 
offered  as  an  interpretation  by  some  writer.  The  ulti¬ 
mate  nature  of  progress  must  be  sought  in  the  most  gen¬ 
eral  phenomena  that  can  be  described  as  progressive. 

Objectively  viewed,  progress  is  an  increasing  intercourse, 
a  multiplication  of  relationships,  an  advance  in  material 
well-being,  a  growth  of  population,  and  an  evolution  of 
rational  conduct.  It  is  a  final  display  in  the  grand  meta¬ 
morphosis  of  universal  evolution.  It  is  a  series  of  trans¬ 
formations  of  energy,  and  its  ultimate  nature  therefore  is 
found  in  a  peculiarity  of  the  transformations.  As  a  physi¬ 
cal  process,  progress  is  the  increasing  conversion  of  modes 
of  energy  that  are  not  accompanied  by  psychical  manifes¬ 
tations,  into  modes  of  energy  that  are  accompanied  by 
psychical  phenomena  of  increasing  complexity. 

Subjectively,  progress  is  the  expansion  of  the  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind.  The  growth  of  sympathy  and  the  evolution 
of  reason  are  secondary  phenomena;  they  are  effects  of 
the  development  of  the  consciousness  of  kind.  In  human 
society,  that  special  consciousness  of  kind  which  marks  off 
the  subdivisions  of  races  was  at  first  limited  to  the  family 
and  the  horde.  Presently  it  expanded  sufficiently  to  in¬ 
clude  the  adopted  members  of  a  semi-artificial  clan.  Then 
it  became  comprehensive  enough  to  include  many  related 
clans  in  the  conception  of  a  tribe,  and  at  last  broad  enough 
to  include  many  related  tribes  in  the  conception  of  a  folk. 

i  Chap.  V. 


360 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


This  conception  introduced  the  final  development  of  ethno- 
genic  evolution,  and  the  evolution  of  the  consciousness  of 
kind  assumed  anew  phase.  The  contact  of  heterogeneous 
elements  in  the  population  and  their  struggle  with  one 
another  for  social  supremacy  suggested  the  thought  of  an 
ideal  and  future  unity  of  kind,  to  be  realized  through  the 
gradual  assimilation  of  heterogeneous  elements  by  means  of 
a  common  speech,  a  common  civic  interest,  and  a  common 
aspiration.  Demogenic  evolution  began. 

The  successive  world-empires  of  Persia,  Macedonia,  and 
Rome  prepared  the  way  for  the  Christian  conception  of 
universal  brotherhood.  So  long  as  this  conception  was 
nothing  more  than  an  esoteric  affirmation  that  all  men  are 
brothers,  because  they  are  children  of  one  Father,  it  made 
but  little  impression  upon  the  social  mind ;  but  when  by 
the  genius  of  St.  Paul  it  was  converted  into  an  ideal,  into 
the  doctrine  that  all  men  through  a  spiritual  renewing 
may  become  brothers,  the  new  faith  underwent  a  transfor¬ 
mation  like  that  which  converted  the  ethnic  into  the  civic 
conception  of  the  state,  and  Christianity  became  the  most 
tremendous  power  in  history.  Gradually  it  has  been  real¬ 
izing  its  ideal,  until,  to-day,  a  Christian  philanthropy  and  a 
Christian  missionary  enterprise,  rapidly  outgrowing  the 
esoteric  sentimentalism  of  their  youth,  and  devoting  them¬ 
selves  to  the  diffusion  of  knowledge,  to  the  improvement 
of  conditions,  and  to  the  upbuilding  of  character,  are 
uniting  the  classes  and  the  races  of  men  in  a  spiritual 
humanity. 


Book  IV 


SOCIAL  PROCESS ,  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


CHAPTER  I 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 

In  descriptive  and  historical  sociology  the  processes  of 
social  evolution  have  been  incidentally  studied,  but  always 
in  their  relation  to  social  products,  which  have  been  the 
chief  objects  of  investigation.  It  is  necessary  now  to  fix 
attention  on  the  social  process  itself,  with  the  purpose  of 
discovering  laws  of  social  causation. 

Specifically  this  study  is  an  examination  of  the  interac¬ 
tion  of  physical  forces  and  psychical  motives.  It  has  been 
shown  that  the  social  population  is  distributed  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  physical  conditions.1  Primarily  the  social  units 
are  held  together  by  the  food-supply.  Born,  driven,  or 
attracted  into  local  contiguity,  in  the  absence  of  some 
dispersive  force  they  remain  together  because  of  mere 
inertia.  The  original  causes  of  aggregation  and  of  dis¬ 
persion,  then,  are  physical  forces.  But  the  secondary 
causes  of  social  phenomena  are  conscious  motives  and  are 
products  of  social  life  itself. 

It  is  necessary  therefore  to  study  first  the  physical  proc¬ 
ess  in  social  phenomena.  It  must  be  studied  abstractly; 
attention  must  be  given  to  the  process  rather  than  to  its 
products.  Then  the  psychical  process  must  be  studied  in 
the  same  way.  Finally,  the  complicated  interaction  of  the 
two  processes  must  be  observed. 

Social  evolution  is  but  a  phase  of  cosmic  evolution.  All 
social  energy  is  transmuted  physical  energy.  The  con¬ 
version  of  physical  into  social  energy  is  inevitable,  and  it 

1  Ante,  p.  82. 

363 


364 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


necessarily  occasions  those  orderly  changes  in  groupings 
and  relationships  that  constitute  development.  Or,  if  the 
statement  may  be  made  in  slightly  different  terms,  the 
original  causes  of  social  evolution  are  the  processes  of 
physical  equilibration,  which  are  seen  in  the  integration 
of  matter  with  the  dissipation  of  motion,  or  in  the  integra¬ 
tion  of  motion  with  the  disintegration  of  matter. 

Mr.  Spencer  has  demonstrated  that  the  postulate  of  all 
physical  philosophy  is  the  affirmation  of  the  persistence  of 
force.  We  can  neither  prove  nor  disprove  that  matter  is 
indestructible,  that  motion  is  continuous,  that  something 
cannot  become  nothing,  or  nothing  something ;  but  in  all 
our  thinking  we  assume  these  truths ;  they  are  necessities 
of  thought.  We  cannot  prove  that  the  cosmic  uniformities 
called  laws  of  nature  are  absolute,  or,  to  use  Mr.  Spencer’s 
term,  that  the  relations  among  forces  are  persistent ;  but 
we  can  prove  that,  if  we  assert  the  violability  of  natural 
law,  we  do  in  fact  affirm  that  something  has  come  of  noth¬ 
ing,  or  that  nothing  has  become  something.  If,  for  ex¬ 
ample,  we  affirm  any  deviation  from  the  law  of  gravitation, 
we  assert  either  that  a  force  which  was  acting  has  disap¬ 
peared  in  nothingness,  or  that  a  counteracting  force,  which 
did  not  before  exist,  has  come  into  being.  Or,  if  we  say 
that  a  force  that  acts  in  one  way  to-day  may  act  in  another 
way  to-morrow,  or  that  elements  that  have  combined  in  a 
given  product  once  may  at  some  time  combine  in  a  dif¬ 
ferent  product,  —  all  other  forces  and  elements  remaining 
the  same,  —  we  are  again  denying  all  difference  between 
something  and  nothing. 

If,  then,  matter  and  energy  are  indestructible,  as  we  are 
compelled  by  the  conditions  of  our  thinking  to  believe,  it 
follows  that  until  all  the  forces  of  the  universe  are  in  per¬ 
fect  equilibrium  there  must  be  ceaseless  redistributions 
of  matter  and  motion  in  space.  Portions  of  matter  must 
change  from  place  to  place,  and  from  combination  to 
combination ;  energy  must  pass  from  mode  to  mode. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


365 


Furthermore,  it  follows  that  the  redistribution  of  matter 
and  motion  necessarily  takes  the  form  of  an  integration  of 
matter,  consequent  upon  an  escape  of  its  contained  motion, 
as,  for  example,  in  the  contraction  of  molten  metal  with 
the  radiation  of  its  heat ;  or  it  takes  the  form  of  an  accu¬ 
mulation  of  motion  and  a  dispersion  of  matter,  as,  for  ex¬ 
ample,  in  the  conversion  of  water  into  steam.  Whenever 
there  is  an  aggregate  of  matter  in  which  the  contained 
motion  is  greater  than  that  in  the  surrounding  space,  the 
process  is  necessarily  an  escape  of  motion  and  an  integra¬ 
tion  of  matter.  It  is  so  far  a  process  of  evolution. 

These  generalizations  —  of  the  persistence  of  force,  the 
universal  process  of  equilibration,  and  the  physical  neces¬ 
sity  of  evolution  —  have  not  been  successfully  assailed. 
They  commend  themselves  to  clear  thinking  the  moment 
their  terms  are  understood. 

These  generalizations  are  as  true  of  the  social  population 
as  they  are  of  inorganic  matter. 

The  energy  of  a  population  is  never  more  than  momen¬ 
tarily  equal  to  the  active  and  latent  energies  of  the  world 
about  it.  Consequently  there  is  a  continual  interchange 
of  matter  and  energy  between  a  population  and  its  en¬ 
vironment.  Inorganic  forces  are  converted  into  organic 
and  social  energies,  social  energies  are  reconverted  into 
physical  forces. 

All  the  energy  expended  in  the  growth  and  activity  of 
a  population  is  derived  from  the  physical  world.  It  is 
physical  energy.  Here  let  me  explain  what  I  mean  by 
social  energy.  Throughout  this  work  society  has  been 
regarded  as  essentially  a  phenomenon  of  thought  and 
feeling.  Now  thought  and  feeling,  merely  as  states  of 
consciousness,  are  not  energy.  Apart  from  energy,  how¬ 
ever,  they  can  do  nothing.  They  can  manifest  them¬ 
selves  in  external  action  only  through  the  physical  energy 
of  nerve  and  muscle.  Therefore  all  that  is  done  in. society, 


366 


PRINCIPLES  OP  SOCIOLOGY 


or  by  society,  whether  consciously  or  otherwise,  is  accom¬ 
plished  by  physical  energy.  Neither  in  society  nor  else¬ 
where  is  there  any  other  kind  of  energy.  Accordingly  if 
we  speak  of  psychical  energy,  we  use  for  convenience  a 
term  that  can  denote  nothing  more  than  a  special  form  of 
physical  energy;  namely,  the  nervous  energy  that  is  directly 
associated  with  consciousness.  Briefly  then,  although  social 
phenomena  are  for  the  most  part  conscious  phenomena, 
there  is  no  social  activity  that  is  not  physical  activity. 

Social  phenomena  then  depend  on  the  transformation 
and  the  equivalence  of  physical  energies.  The  quantity 
and  the  intensity  of  social  activity  are  proportional  to  the 
energy  taken  from  the  environment  by  the  social  body  and 
transmuted  into  organic  phenomena.1 

This  law  may  be  resolved  into  specific  generalizations 
which  may  be  briefly  enumerated. 

Density  of  population  depends  on  the  quantity  of  food 
produced.  The  beginnings  of  social  evolution,  as  was 
shown  in  the  chapter  on  The  Social  Population,  are  always 
to  be  found  in  a  bountiful  environment.  Moreover,  den¬ 
sity  of  population  follows  abundance  of  food,  whether  the 
supplies  are  obtained  from  the  soil  directly,  or  indirectly,  in 
exchange  for  manufactures ;  and  other  things  being  equal, 
the  activity  and  the  progress  of  society  depend,  within 
limits,  on  the  density  of  the  population. 

A  sparse  population,  scattered  over  a  poor  soil,  can  carry 
on  production  only  by  primitive  methods  and  on  a  small 
scale.  It  can  have  only  the  most  rudimentary  division 
of  labour ;  it  cannot  have  manufacturing  industries,  or 
good  roads,  or  a  rapid  interchange  of  intelligence ;  all 
of  which,  together  with  a  highly  developed  industrial^ 
organization  and  a  perfect  utilization  of  capital,  are  pos¬ 
sible  to  the  populations  that  are  relatively  dense. 

A  highly  developed  political  life,  too,  is  found  only 
where  population  is  compact.  Civil  liberty  means  discus- 

*  1  Spencer,  “First  Principles,”  §  72. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


367 


sion,  and  discussion  is  dependent  on  the  frequent  meeting 
of  considerable  bodies  of  men  who  have  varied  interests  and 
who  look  at  life  from  different  points  of  view.  Movements 
for  the  increase  of  popular  freedom  have  usually  started 
in  towns.  The  American  Revolution  and  the  anti-slavery 
agitation  were  as  peculiarly  products  of  town  life  as  are 
socialism,  nationalism,  and  the  single  tax  agitation  to-day. 

Education,  religion,  art,  science,  and  literature  are  all 
dependent  on  a  certain  density  of  population.  Schools, 
universities,  churches,  the  daily  newspaper,  great  publish¬ 
ing  houses,  libraries,  and  museums  come  only  when  the 
population  per  square  mile  is  expressed  by  more  than  one 
unit,  and  their  decay  is  one  of  the  first  symptoms  that 
population  is  declining.  Long  before  the  desertion  of  the 
country  villages  in  several  of  our  eastern  states  had  begun 
to  attract  the  attention  of  economists,  the  decline  of  the 
schools  and  the  churches  was  observed  with  solicitude  by 
educators  and  by  the  religious  press. 

Population  being  given  and  other  things  remaining  the 
same,  social  activity  varies  with  the  harvests. 

Certain  social  phenomena  follow  good  and  bad  times 
with  astonishing  regularity.  Among  these  are  the  mar¬ 
riage-rate,  the  birth-rate,  and  the  death-rate. 

For  example,  in  Bavaria  the  years  from  1840  to  1845  were 
years  of  quiet  prosperity.  The  marriages  of  those  years 
were  29,500 ;  29,463  ;  29,356  ;  29,490 ;  29,373.  In  1846-47 
business  was  depressed  and  the  marriages  sank  to  28,331. 
With  returning  prosperity  the  number  rose  to  30,000. 
Another  hard  year  came  in  1853-54  and  the  number  sank 
to  26,939.  The  modification  of  the  marriage  laws  in  1862 
raised  it  to  40,000  and  with  further  changes  in  the  laws  it 
rose  in  1869  to  60,000.  The  Franco-Prussian  War  brought 
it  down  to  40,707  in  1871.  The  cessation  of  the  war 
restored  it  to  52,045.1 

1  Mayo-Smith,  “  Statistics  and  Economics,”  Publications  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Economic  Association,  Vol.  III.,  Nos.  4  and  5,  September  and 
November,  1888,  pp.  53-64.  Cf.  also  “  Statistics  and  Sociology,”  p.  100. 


368  - 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


This  phenomenon  has  been  carefully  studied,  and  the 
German  statistician,  Hermann,  has  formulated  the  law 
that  the  number  of  marriages  in  any  period  expresses  the 
expectation  of  economic  prosperity  prevailing  at  that  time, 
and  expresses  this  the  more  plainly  the  greater  the  econo¬ 
mic  freedom  of  the  country. 

The  birth-rate  rises  in  years  of  prosperity  and  the  death- 
rate  falls.  Professor  Mayo-Smith,  summarizing  statisti¬ 
cal  results  on  these  points,  says :  “  It  is  pretty  clearly 
established  that  dearness  of  food,  hard  times,  and  wars  have 
an  influence  in  depressing  the  birth-rate.  In  Germany, 
the  years  1847  and  1854,  following  the  scarcity  years  of 
1846  and  1853,  had  a  very  low  number  of  births.  Those 
following  the  panic  of  1873  showed  a  gradually  decreasing 
birth-rate  in  most  of  the  countries  of  Europe,  due  doubt¬ 
less  to  the  less  number  of  marriages.  The  effect  of  the 
war  of  1870-71  was  noticed  in  Germany.  In  Prussia  the 
average  birth-rate  for  the  years  1865  to  1878  was  37.8  pro 
mille.  .  .  .  Immediately  after  the  war  there  was  a  revival 
of  the  birth-rate  (in  1872  it  was  39.7),  making  good  the 
depression  of  the  previous  year.”  1 

Scarcity  of  food,  hard  times,  and  wars  affect  the  death- 
rate.  This  relation  was  shown  by  the  increased  number 
of  deaths  after  1846  in  Ireland,  after  1853  in  Germany,  and 
after  1870-71  in  France.  “  It  will  generally  be  found  that 
the  death-rate  begins  to  increase  the  year  after  the  bad 
times,  —  sometimes  during  the  same  year.”  2 

Other  things  being  equal,  harvests  depend  on  the  amount 
of  physical  energy  utilized  by  society  in  agricultural  oper¬ 
ations.  Every  substitution  of  the  forces  of  nature  for 
human  strength  increases  the  total  production  of  food. 

Population  and  harvests  remaining  the  same,  social 

1  “Statistics  and  Economics,”  p. 49, and  cf.  “  Statistics  and  Sociology,” 
p.  74. 

2  “Statistics  and  Economics,”  p.  63,  and  “Statistics  and  Sociology," 
p.  137. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


369 


activity  depends  on  the  amount  of  physical  energy  util¬ 
ized  otherwise  than  in  producing  food.  How  enormously 
have  political,  religious,  and  educational  activities  been 
multiplied  by  steam  and  electricity  ! 

It  is  a  corollary  from  the  persistence  of  force  that,  when 
matter  passes  from  place  to  place,  its  motion  must  be  in 
the  line  of  least  resistance  or  of  greatest  traction.  In  the 
redistributions  of  matter  and  energy  within  the  social  pop¬ 
ulation  and  between  the  environment  and  population,  this 
law  is  perfectly  exemplified. 

Social  activity  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance.  Pop¬ 
ulation  is  relatively  dense  in  warm  climates.  Colonization 
follows  coast  lines  and  river  valleys.  Expanding  states 
respect  the  territory  of  strong  rivals  ‘and  encroach  upon 
the  domain  of  the  weak. 

Wherever  an  economic  opportunity  has  been  opened, 
there  swarms  of  men  have  gathered,  and  there  they  have 
stayed  until  diminishing  returns  have  driven  them  on  to 
yet  newer  openings.  If  in  imagination  we  could  picture 
the  distribution  of  humanity,  we  should  see  it  in  constant 
motion,  but  here  the  moving  thousands  would  be  widely 
scattered  and  there  densely  aggregated.1 

The  concentration  of  population  in  cities  is  but  another 
exemplification  of  the  same  law ;  for  the  cities,  on  the 
whole,  afford  the  greatest  opportunities  for  employment. 
“  Certain  forces  of  attraction,”  says  Mr.  Courtney,  “  are 
seen  to  be  always  in  operation,  drawing  life  away  from 
where  it  came  into  existence  to  expend  its  activity  else¬ 
where.  As  it  matures  it  moves  from  a  birth-place  to  a 
work-place.”  2  So  throughout  the  present  century  human¬ 
ity  has  been  moving  from  its  quiet  birth-  and  nurture- 
places  in  the  country,  to  the  turbulent  centres  of  indus¬ 
try,  trade,  and  professional  endeavour. 

1  Courtney,  “The  Swarming  of  Men,”  Nineteenth  Century ,  No. 
CXXXIII.,  March,  1888.  2  Ibid. 


370 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


The  line  of  least  resistance  also  determines  occupations, 
the  course  of  exchanges,  the  lines  of  communication  and 
the  movements  of  labour  and  capital,  legislative  and  admin¬ 
istrative  policy,  and  the  direction  of  religious,  scientific,  and 
educational  movements.  Finally  it  tends  to  keep  social 
activities  in  their  original  channels.1 

Another  consequence  of  the  persistence  of  force  is  that 
action  and  reaction  are  necessarily  equal,  and  therefore 
a  yet  further  consequence  is,  that  motion  is  necessarily 
rhythmical. 

Social  activities  are  periodic.  Harvests  and  food-sup¬ 
plies  are  alternately  abundant  and  meagre.  Exchanges, 
in  fairs  and  markets,  are  rhythmical,  and  the  balance  of 
international  trade  is  ever  changing ;  prices  rise  and  fall.2 
Industrial  depressions  alternate  with  periods  of  industrial 
prosperity.  The  tide  of  immigration  rises  and  falls.  War 
and  peace,  conservatism  and  liberalism,  alternate.  Reli¬ 
gion,  morals,  philosophy,  science,  literature,  art,  and  fash¬ 
ion  are  all  subject  to  the  law  of  rhythm. 

In  the  redistribution  of  matter  and  motion  between 
society  and  its  environment,  either  there  is  a  greater 
increase  of  mass  than  of  motion  in  the  population,  and 
the  change  is  on  the  whole  one  of  social  integration,  or 
there  is  a  greater  dissipation  of  matter  than  of  energy, 
and  the  change  is  on  the  whole  one  of  social  dissolution. 
Either  population  encroaches  on  the  environment  or  the 
environment  encroaches  on  the  population. 

A  tendency  to  dispersion  exists  when,  concurrently  with 
a  multiplication  of  numbers,  and  an  increase  of  individual 
energy,  industry  fails  to  secure  increasing  returns. 

Usually  this  tendency  does  not  become  powerful  enough 
to  overcome  inertia  until  the  group  is  large.  Until  then, 
therefore,  the  group  holds  together  and  is  subject  to  any 
influences  that  tend  to  establish  further  integration. 

1  “First  Principles,”  §  80.  2  Ibid.,  §  85. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


371 


If  in  any  mass  of  matter  the  process  of  integration  is 
prolonged,  it  is  but  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  inevitable 
physical  changes  which  become  more  and  more  compli¬ 
cated.  The  mass  necessarily  undergoes  differentiation 
and  its  differentiated  parts  necessarily  undergo  segrega¬ 
tion. 

Since  the  units  of  matter  in  the  integrating  mass  are  in 
different  positions,  they  cannot  be  equally  affected  by  the 
escaping  motion.  Unlike  exposure  to  like  forces,  or  like 
exposure  to  unlike  forces,  or  both,  must  change  the  char¬ 
acter  and  the  arrangements  of  the  units.  The  result  is 
differentiation.1 

When  different  kinds  and  arrangements  of  units  have 
been  produced,  like  units  that  are  exposed  to  the  same  or 
like  forces  are  affected  in  like  ways.  Their  similarity 
becomes  more  marked,  and  they  are  drawn  together.  The 
result  is  segregation.2 

Unlike  exposures  of  different  parts  of  the  social  aggre¬ 
gate  to  environing  forces  result  in  social  differentiation.3 

The  multiplication  of  effects  results  in  numerous  sec¬ 
ondary  differentiations  which  increase  the  heterogeneity.4 

So  far  as  the  units  of  the  social  aggregate  are  equally 
exposed  to  the  same  conditions,  they  are  modified  in  like 
ways.  The  result  is  a  segregation  of  like  units,  —  a  sec¬ 
ondary  integration  within  the  larger  integration  that  is 
the  primary  phase  of  social  evolution,  —  and  an  increas¬ 
ing  definiteness  of  the  differentiated  parts  into  which  the 
aggregate  has  been  divided.5 

The  external  conditions  of  climate  and  food,  for  exam¬ 
ple,  group  like  natures  togethei  Racial  likenesses  bring 
together  men  of  like  mental  and  moral  qualities,  and  so 
constitute  the  basis  of  nationality  ;  and  like  national  types, 
when  they  have  been  separated,  tend  to  reunite.  Men  of 


1  “First  Principles.” 
a  Ibid. 

8  Ibid.,  §  122. 


*  Ibid.,  §  161. 

8  Ibid.,  §§  134  and  168. 


372 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


like  qualities  are  brought  together  also  by  occupation, 
There  is  a  segregation  of  politicians,  priests,  professional 
men,  literary  men,  actors  and  artists,  mechanics  and 
labourers.  Various  sub-groupings  result  in  the  formation 
of  political  parties,  religious  sects,  and  social  cliques. 

This  law  is  strikingly  exemplified  in  the  distribution  of 
immigrants.  Germans  spread  westward  from  New  York 
and  Pennsylvania  to  Illinois  and  Iowa.  Four-fifths  of 
the  whole  German  immigration  is  found  in  the  northern 
central  division  of  the  United  States.  The  Irish  remain 
in  the  East,  along  the  coast  from  New  York  to  Maine. 
The  Swedes  and  the  Norwegians  seek  homes  in  Minne¬ 
sota,  Wisconsin,  and  Illinois,  while  the  great  stream  of 
Italian  immigration  sets  steadily  southward  to  the  Argen¬ 
tine  Republic,  which  apparently  is  destined  to  be  as  dis¬ 
tinctly  an  American  Italy  as  New  England  has  been  an 
American  Britain.1 

These  different  ethnical  groups  remain  for  a  long  time 
distinct.  From  a  comparison  of  the  parent  nativity  of 
different  ethnical  groups  in  the  United  States,  the  census 
office  in  1880  deduced  the  rule  that,  wherever  large  num¬ 
bers  of  both  sexes  of  any  nationality  are  found  together, 
there  is  very  little  marriage  of  one  nationality  with  an¬ 
other.  In  New  York  City,  for  example,  Germans  marry 
Germans,  Irish  marry  Irish,  and  Italians  marry  Italians, 
and  the  same  thing  may  be  affirmed  of  all  large  cities. 
The  customs,  traditions,  religious  beliefs,  and  even  the 
languages  of  the  immigrants  are  showing  a  stronger 
tendency  to  persist  here  in  the  New  World,  and  to  modify 
our  social  and  political  life,  than  was  formerly  believed 
to  be  possible.2 

It  is  evident  that  so  long  as  integration  continues,  the 
internal  energy  of  the  mass  has  not  wholly  disappeared. 

1  Mayo-Smith,  “  The  Influence  of  Immigration  on  the  United  States  of 
America,”  p.  49. 

1  Ibid.,  pp.  81-85. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


373 


Furthermore,  in  no  aggregation  is  the  dissipation  of  mo¬ 
tion  and  the  integration  of  matter  wholly  unaccompanied 
by  the  counter  process;  some  matter  is  lost  from  time  to 
time,  and  some  energy  is  absorbed.  This  is  a  conspicuous 
part  of  the  process  of  evolution  in  organic  bodies. 

This  internal  motion  causes  further  complications  of 
the  evolutionary  process.  In  consequence  of  the  rear¬ 
rangements  of  matter  that  are  taking  place,  the  internal 
motion  itself  undergoes  a  redistribution  within  the  mass. 
Thus  there  is  a  further  multiplication  of  effects;  there 
are  new  differentiations  and  new  segregations ;  and  there 
is  an  increasing  definiteness  of  both  differentiation  and 
segregation.1 

In  the  social  population,  more  than  in  any  other  mass 
of  matter,  is  motion  simultaneously  lost  and  absorbed. 
Therefore  a  social  population  is  more  mobile  and  more 
plastic  than  any  other  aggregation,  and  secondary  redis¬ 
tributions  of  matter  and  motion  are  more  frequent  and 
more  complicated  in  society  than  elsewhere.  Social  evo¬ 
lution  is  in  the  highest  degree  compound. 

The  segregation  due  to  climate  makes  the  zones  of 
population  increasingly  definite.2  Men  of  like  speech 
and  of  similar  racial  characteristics  draw  together  within 
definite  territories.  Segregations  due  to  vocation  become 
definite  class  distinctions.  The  ruling,  the  priestly,  the 
literary,  the  merchant,  the  artisan,  and  the  labouring 
classes  do  not  become  blended  as  societies  grow  older. 
They  become  more  sharply  defined.  Any  social  reform 
that  hopes  for  the  interblending  of  classes  is  foredoomed 
to  failure. 

Accompanying  the  structural  changes  of  society  are 
parallel  changes  of  function.  The  redistributions  of  mat¬ 
ter  are  attended  by  similar  redistributions  of  the  retained 

1  “First  Principles.” 

2  Cf.  Orgeas,  “La  pathologie  des  races  humaines,”  and  Pearsoni 
“National  Life  and  Character.” 


374 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


motion.  The  social  functions,  like  the  social  structure, 
increase  in  cohesion,  heterogeneity,  and  definiteness. 

At  the  beginning  the  economic,  political,  and  religious 
activities  of  society  are  incoherent.  There  is  no  connection 
between  one  man’s  work  and  another’s.  Ther6  is  no  organ¬ 
ized  combination  of  efforts  in  hunting,  fighting,  or  worship. 
At  a  later  time  there  are  elaborate  combinations  in  each  of 
these  modes  of  human  activity.  At  the  outset  all  work  in 
the  same  way,  all  think  and  worship  in  the  same  way ;  but 
subsequently  every  possible  method  of  work,  every  possible 
plan  of  government,  every  shade  of  belief  and  manner  of 
worship,  appears.  At  first  activity  is  little  controlled  by 
definiteness  of  purpose.  Continuity  of  effort  and  nice 
adjustments  of  means  to  ends  characterize  business  and 
political  life  and  ecclesiastical  endeavour.1 

Compound  evolution  is  a  moving  equilibrium.  A  certain 
balance  in  the  differentiated  parts  is  maintained  which 
gives  to  them  a  certain  static  stability,  though  by  the  simul¬ 
taneous  loss  and  gain  of  matter  and  the  constant  redistribu¬ 
tion  of  their  contained  energy  they  are  essentially  in  a 
kinetic  condition,  undergoing  constant  changes  of  size,  form, 
composition,  and  of  mutual  relations. 

A  high  degree  of  evolution  therefore  is  possible  only  if 
a  net  loss  of  motion  and  an  integration  of  matter  takes 
place  slowly,  since  the  slower  the  change  the  greater  the 
possible  number  of  redistributions  of  contained  motion,  and 
consequently  the  greater  the  number  and  the  greater  the 
definiteness  of  the  resulting  differentiations  and  segrega¬ 
tions. 

All  social  activities  tend  to  equilibrium,  but  for  an  in¬ 
definite  period  it  may  be  a  moving  equilibrium.2 

A  high  degree  of  evolution  can  be  attained  by  any  society 
only  if  the  motion  lost  is  but  slightly  in  excess  of  the  motion 

1  “First  Principles,”  §  144. 

» Ibid.,  §  175. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PHYSICAL 


375 


gained,  so  that  the  evolutionary  process  goes  on  slowly. 
Rapid  growth  and  quickly  accomplished  reforms  are  neces¬ 
sarily  unsound,  incomplete,  and  disappointing. 

As  all  motion  is  rhythmical,  an  aggregation  that  both 
loses  and  gains  energy  will  at  one  time  lose  more  than  it 
gains  and  at  another  time  gain  more  than  it  loses.  For  a 
while  society  experiences  evolutionary  changes,  and  then 
for  a  while  disintegrating  changes  predominate.  Among 
the  disintegrated  elements  a  reevolution  may  begin  to  be 
followed  in  time  by  another  dissolution.1 


1  “  First  Principles,”  §  178. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 

If  the  cohesion  of  a  population  is  maintained  by  the 
process  of  physical  evolution,  true  association  begins  in 
the  birth  of  the  consciousness  of  kind,  which  presently 
grows  into  the  love  of  companionship. 

The  association  of  men  may  be  an  association  mainly  of 
presence  or  mainly  of  activity.  There  is  seldom  an  associ¬ 
ation  of  presence  that  is  not  also  in  some  degree  an  associ¬ 
ation  in  activity,  and  there  can  be  little  association  in 
activity  without  some  association  of  presence.  Yet  either 
presence  or  activity  will  be  the  relatively  important  fact. 

Association  of  presence  has  its  ground  in  feeling.  The 
craving  for  companionship  is  one  of  the  elementary  socio¬ 
logical  forces.  Although  the  chief  phenomena  of  human 
society  are  those  of  associated  activity,  the  mere  association 
of  presence  has  played  a  strangely  important  part  in  human 
progress.  “The  ostensible  end  of  an  association,”  as  Mr. 
Leslie  Stephen  reminds  us,  “is  often  the  least  part  of  its 
value  for  us.  We  really  love  it  because  it  supplies  us  with 
a  means  of  cultivating  certain  emotions  and  of  enjoying  the 
society  of  our  fellows ;  and  it  would  be  an  entirely  inade¬ 
quate  account  of  the  whole  statement  if  we  regarded  it  as 
simply  the  means  of  attaining  that  pleasure  which  has 
given  the  pretext  for  its  formation.”  1 

We  have  but  to  reflect  on  the  attachment  to  inanimate 
objects,  that  springs  from  long  association  with  them, 
to  become  conscious  of  the  tremendous  power  of  human 
1  “  Science  of  Ethics,”  p.  114. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


877 


presence  in  our  mental  and  moral  life.  No  experience  is 
more  familiar  than  the  unrest  that  is  due  to  the  absence 
of  a  comrade  from  his  accustomed  place.  We  are,  there¬ 
fore,  not  likely  to  overestimate  the  importance  of  the  asso¬ 
ciation  of  presence  as  a  conservative  factor  in  social  life. 
Often  it  is  the  bond  of  family  union  after  romantic  days 
are  passed,  and  the  struggle  to  get  children  started  in  the 
world  is  over.  It  is  an  essential  factor  in  the  wider  social 
relations  of  mutual  acquaintance  and  friendship.  It  is 
always  a  strong,  though  unnoticed,  bond  in  clan  and  tribal 
life.  Common  activity  may  be  at  a  low  ebb,  but  in  hours 
and  days  of  idleness  the  association  of  presence  remains. 
And  from  immemorial  time  it  has  been  one  of  the  most 
deeply  mysterious  and  awe-inspiring  elements  in  public 
worship. 

Yet  it  is  the  association  of  activity  that  is  not  only 
the  mightier  fact  in  social  evolution,  but  also  the  one  that 
accounts  for  much  that  would  otherwise  be  inexplicable 
in  the  phenomena  of  the  association  of  presence.  It  is 
because  the  association  of  presence  carries  with  it  the 
lingering  memories  of  associated  activity  and  the  con¬ 
sciousness  that  it  may  again,  at  any  moment,  become  the 
association  of  activity,  that  it  is  of  such  consequence. 

When  the  instinct  of  association  has  been  created,  a 
population  is  no  longer  held  together  only  by  physical 
conditions.  The  social  units  are  so  adjusted  to  social  rela¬ 
tions  that  they  find  their  chief  pleasure  in  them  and  desire 
to  maintain  and  to  perfect  them. 

Held  together  in  social  relations,  men  modify  each 
other’s  natures.  Intellect  and  conscious  personality  are 
developed.  This  evolution  of  human  nature  is  the  func¬ 
tion  of  society. 

The  psychical  results  of  association  have  a  consensus. 
They  are  fused  in  an  organic  unity.  That  unity  is  the 
personality,  the  self,  that  gathers  up  the  impressions  of 


378 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


sense,  the  waves  of  feeling,  the  images,  the  cognitions, 
and  the  habits  of  will,  which  constitute  the  shifting  phe¬ 
nomena  of  mental  life,  and  blends  them  in  a  self-conscious 
whole,  which,  as  a  unifying  power,  acts  more  and  more 
effectively  in  modification  or  in  control  of  each  specific 
phase  of  will  or  thought.  “  The  self  is  a  connecting, 
relating  activity,  and  hence  is  a  real  unity,  one  which 
unites  into  a  whole  all  the  various  elements  and  members 
of  our  knowledge.  In  association  and  in  attention  it  is 
the  activity  of  mind  which  associates  and  which  attends, 
and  thus  only  does  our  mental  life  become  significant  in 
its  products.  The  self  is  consequently  the  bond  of  unity. 
There  is  no  member  of  our  psychical  life,  no  object  of 
knowledge,  which  is  not  such  because  the  self  has  acted 
upon  it,  and  made  it  what  it  is.”  1 

Professor  Dewey  states  clearly  one  side  of  the  phe¬ 
nomena  of  personality,  but  he  ignores  or  misconceives 
another.  Personality  is  a  unity,  but  it  is  not  indivisible 
or  undecomposable.  It  is  more  powerful  than  any  of  its 
conscious  states  and  it  normally  controls  them,  but  its 
control  is  analogous  to  the  control  of  a  meeting  over  the 
individuals  that  compose  it.  Indeed,  it  is  beginning  to  be 
admitted  as  a  truth  of  psychology,  that  psychology  must 
draw  conceptions  from  sociology,  as  sociology  must  draw 
them  from  psychology.  Studies  of  hypnotism  and  of 
pathological  states  of  the  will  show  that  the  self-conscious 
personality  is  composite.  It  is  a  resultant  of  many  forces, 
which  are  of  varying  persistency  and  strength.  As  its 
factors  change  and  shift,  increase  or  diminish  in  intensity, 
combine  and  recombine,  personality  changes  in  tone  or  in 
character.  It  is  one  thing  to-day  and  another  thing  to¬ 
morrow.  The  limits  of  variation  are  narrow,  however, 
in  normal  health ;  they  are  wide  when  the  physiological 
balance  is  disturbed.2 

1  John  Dewey,  “  Psychology,”  p.  242. 

*  The  normal  variation  is  greater  in  women  than  in  men  ;  unless  regu- 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


379 


“  The  unity  of  the  ego,”  then,  to  quote  the  admirable 
summing  up  of  M.  Ribot,1  “  in  a  psychological  sense,  is 
therefore  the  cohesion,  during  a  given  time,  of  a  certain 
number  of  clear  states  of  consciousness,  accompanied  by 
others  less  clear,  and  by  a  multitude  of  physiological 
states,  which,  without  being  accompanied  by  conscious¬ 
ness  like  the  others,  yet  operate  as  much  and  even  more 
than  the  former.  Unity,  in  fact,  means  coordination.” 

I  shall  now  undertake  to  show  that  this  “  unity  of  the 
ego”  is  a  sociological  no  less  than  a  biological  product. 
Most  of  the  psychologists  who  have  recognized  the  com¬ 
posite  nature  of  personality  have  come  to  their  conclusions 
from  the  physiological  side.  Thus  M.  Ribot,  continuing 
the  paragraph  quoted  above,  says :  “  The  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter  is  that  the  consensus  of  the  consciousness 
being  subordinate  to  the  consensus  of  the  organism,  the 
problem  of  the  unity  of  the  ego  is,  in  its  final  form,  a 
biological  problem,  and  it  is  for  biology  to  explain,  if  it  can, 
the  genesis  of  organisms  and  the  solidarity  of  their  parts ; 
the  psychological  explanation  can  come  only  then.”  This 
is  true,  but  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  Biology  cannot  ex¬ 
plain  the  genesis  of  an  organism  without  resorting  to  social 
facts,  since  natural  selection  and  survival  imply  coexistent 
individuals  and  their  action  and  reaction  upon  one  another. 
Much  less  can  it  explain  the  organic  basis  of  mental  unity 
without  help  from  sociological  interpretations. 

Already  we  have  seen  that  each  of  the  various  phases  of 
mental  life  is  a  product  of  social  evolution.  Therefore  it 
is  by  society  that  those  components  of  the  physical  organ¬ 
ism  that  are  associated  with  mental  life  are  stamped  with 
individuality.  Can  we  suppose,  then,  that  their  organic 
coordination  has  any  other  than  a  sociological  genesis? 

larly  recurrent  mental  and  moral  changes  are  to  be  classed  as  pathologi¬ 
cal.  This  is  a  disputed  point.  See  Icard,  “  La  femme  pendant  la  periode 
menstruelle,  6tude  de  psychologie  morbide  et  de  m^decine  legale.” 

1  “Diseases  of  Personality,”  p.  157. 


380 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


What  but  the  social  medium  is  it  that  blends  the  com¬ 
ponent  elements  of  personality?  What  but  the  social 
medium,  acting  on  countless  generations,  determines 
which  factors  shall  survive  in  consciousness  and  which 
shall  perish ;  which  forces  shall  be  strong  and  which  weak, 
which  combinations  shall  have  that  relatively  stable  equi¬ 
librium,  that  perfect  fusion,  harmony,  or  unity,  which  we 
recognize  as  well-poised  character;  and  what  other  com¬ 
binations  shall  be  incapable  of  perfect  synthesis,  because 
the  elements  are  incongruous,  and  compose  a  character 
that  is  essentially  unstable  ? 

No  other  than  this  sociological  explanation  is  possible. 
So  far  as  the  problem  is  one  of  heredity,  it  is  evident  that 
social  conditions  determine,  in  the  first  place,  what  ele¬ 
ments  shall  combine  through  sexual  union  in  the  birth  of 
new  individuals  —  that  is,  what  possibilities  of  variation 
shall  exist  —  and  in  the  second  place,  what  new  types  shall 
survive.  So  far  as  the  problem  is  one  of  the  modification 
of  the  organism  within  the  brief  span  of  individual  life,  it 
is  certain  that  social  conditions  determine  for  each  indi¬ 
vidual  what  elements  of  his  personality  shall  be  played 
upon  by  the  influences  that  strengthen  or  weaken  ;  what 
suggestions  shall  consciously  or  unconsciously  give  direc¬ 
tion  to  his  thought,  quality  to  his  feeling,  and  so,  at  length, 
determination  to  his  will.  In  this  last  thought,  perhaps, 
is  the  key  to  a  true  philosophy  of  education,  as  M.  Guyau 
has  contended.1 

Personality  is  not  a  merely  passive  consensus  of  mental 
states.  Though  composite  in  its  origin,  and  decompos¬ 
able,  it  is  a  unity  while  it  persists,  and  an  active  unity. 
It  reacts  on  all  its  emotional  and  intellectual  factors.  In 
every  sensation  and  perception,  in  every  act  of  attention 
and  of  reasoning,  in  every  phase  of  feeling,  personality, 
the  unified  resultant  of  all  past  and  present  feeling,  is 

i  “  Education  et  her6dit6.” 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


381 


itself  a  factor,  making  every  process  of  thought  and  feel¬ 
ing  something  peculiar  and  incommunicable.  This  reac¬ 
tion  of  the  coordinated  whole  upon  the  parts  is  especially 
distinctive  of  the  psychology  of  man ;  it  differentiates  his 
conscious  life  from  the  conscious  life  of  lower  animals.1 

The  synthesis  of  passive  and  active  phases  of  personality 
is  the  phenomenon  of  internal,  or  psychical,  determination. 
Personality  is  a  consensus,  but  a  living  one.  Its  states 
are  determined,  but  they  are  determined  mainly  through 
the  mental  processes  themselves,  and  through  character, 
which  is  the  product  of  all  that  now  is  and  ever  has  been 
in  the  mind  itself. 

Psychical  determination  is  still  called  “self-determina¬ 
tion  ”  in  many  books  on  psychology.  “  Self-determina¬ 
tion,”  however,  is  a  term  to  juggle  with,  and  for  that 
reason  every  scientific  psychologist  ought  to  detest  it. 
Psychical  determination  has  antecedents  in  the  external 
world,  of  which  it  never  becomes  independent.  This  is 
true,  whether  the  external  world  is  a  reality  transcend¬ 
ing  knowledge,  or  only  an  order  of  perception.  Most  of 
the  external  antecedents  of  internal  changes,  however,  are 
remote  rather  than  immediate.  Each  new  impression  of 
the  external  world  upon  the  mind  is  made  through  the 
medium  of  thousands  of  internal  results  of  previous  im¬ 
pressions.  The  internal  process,  therefore,  is  different 
from  the  external  process.  It  therefore  reacts  upon  the 
external  process,  and  we  have  those  two  apparently  con¬ 
tradictory  views  of  the  world,  which  are  reflected  by 
science  and  by  art.  Science  regards  things  as  deter¬ 
mined  in  all  respects  by  the  consensus  of  outward  things. 
Art,  morals,  and  religion  regard  things  and  persons  as 
spontaneously  acting  from  inward  impulse. 

Both  views  are  true.  Things  and  persons  are  deter¬ 
mined  from  without,  but  they  react  also  upon  their  sur¬ 
roundings.  It  is  therefore  conceivable  that  an  individual 

1  Cf.  Vignoli,  “  Myth  and  Science,”  pp.  22,  23. 


382 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


mind  might  be  so  perfectly  adapted  to  the  conditions  of 
existence  that  it  would  always  desire  to  do  exactly  those 
things  which  in  the  cosmic  order  it  would  be  compelled 
to  do.  Such  potential  harmony  is  still  spoken  of  by  the 
psychologists  of  “self-determination”  as  “the  reconcilia¬ 
tion  of  freedom  with  necessity.”  This,  however,  is  an¬ 
other  bit  of  jugglery.  Freedom  and  necessity  cannot  be 
“  reconciled,”  though  there  may  be  an  agreement  of  pur¬ 
pose  with  necessity. 

Psychical  determination,  then,  is  simply  determination 
through  one’s  conscious  activity.  It  is  the  free  exercise  of 
will  —  not  the  exercise  of  free  will  —  in  so  far  as  volition 
is  the  expression  of  one’s  own  mental  constitution, — from 
hereditary  tendency  and  present  sensation,  up  to  reason 
and  conscience.  It  is  the  result  of  internal  or  psychical  as 
distinguished  from  external  and  physical  necessity.1 

Psychical  determination,  as  thus  defined,  is  a  phase  of 
evolution  that  is  neither  more  nor  less  mysterious  than 
other  modes  of  the  interaction  of  organism  and  environ¬ 
ment.  In  their  simpler  forms  the  mental  correlations, 
organized  as  sensations  and  instincts,  enable  their  pos¬ 
sessor  to  gain  advantage  from  the  few  relatively  simple 
external  conditions  and  objects  on  which  the  mere  con¬ 
tinuation  of  life  depends.  They  make  him  in  a  degree 
the  master  of  his  fate,  by  enabling  him  both  to  avoid 
destructive  agents  and  to  put  himself  into  relation  with 
agents  that  can  minister  to  his  necessities.  To  those  more 
complex  correlations  of  the  external  world  that  are  not 
yet  represented  in  the  mental  structure,  there  is,  of  course, 
no  adjustment ;  to  come  in  their  way  is  destruction ;  and 
within  the  organism  itself  there  is  no  means  of  avoiding 
them.  In  relation  to  them,  the  individual  is  the  sport  of 
chance. 

1  Cf.  James,  “Psychology  ”  ;  Ribot,  “  Diseases  of  the  Will ” ;  Hodgson, 
“Free  Will:  an  Analysis,”  Mind ,  No.  LXII.,  April,  1891,  pp.  161  sq. ; 
and  especially  the  admirable  statement  by  Royce,  International  Journal 
of  Ethics,  Vol.  VI.,  No.  1,  October,  1895,  p.  115. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


383 


Mental  life,  therefore,  has  the  distinguishing  character¬ 
istic  that,  as  it  expands,  it  acquires  control  over  its  own 
destiny  and  over  the  physical  organism  in  which  it  exists. 
In  their  higher  and  more  complex  forms  which  are  organ¬ 
ized  as  intelligence,  sympathy,  and  justice,  mental  corre¬ 
lations  correspond  to  a  vast  range  of  external  conditions ; 
and  in  their  highest  coordination  they  may  represent 
every  law  and  process  of  the  knowable  world.  Thus 
man  becomes  aware  of  every  influence  that  can  affect  his 
existence,  of  every  means  of  escaping  from  what  might 
harm  him,  and  of  deriving  benefit  from  all  that  can  aid 
him.  Whether  or  not  he  secures  these  advantages  and 
becomes  a  free  being,  controlling  his  destiny  within  him¬ 
self,  depends  on  the  degree  to  which  the  higher  mental 
processes  control  volition.  This  degree  is  the  measure  of 
personality.  Only  the  man  in  whom  the  re-representative 1 
thoughts  and  feelings  are  sovereign  —  whose  lower  pro¬ 
pensities  are  brought  into  strict  subordination  to  the 
higher,  and  are  indulged  only  by  permission  or  com¬ 
mand  of  the  higher  —  is  in  a  scientific  sense  a  perfect 
personality. 

The  evolution  of  personality  is  a  result  to  which  we  are 
not  indifferent.  It  is  accompanied  by  feelings  of  pain  or 
pleasure.  There  is  no  growth  without  some  disintegra¬ 
tion,  some  breaking  up  of  the  old  relations,  that  the  new 
and  larger  relations  may  be  made  possible,  and  this  is  pain¬ 
ful.  But  life  itself,  spontaneous  activity,  expansion  of  op¬ 
portunity,  and  increase  of  power,  —  these  are  pleasurable, 
and  the  more  perfect  the  organism,  the  larger  and  fuller 
the  life,  the  greater  is  the  pleasure.2  Moreover,  this  pleas¬ 
ure  is  of  the  kind  that  does  not  bring  with  it  reactions 

1  Spencer,  “  The  Principles  of  Psychology,”  Yol.  II.,  §  480. 

2  Cf.  Spencer,  “  The  Principles  of  Psychology,”  Yol.  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap. 
IX.;  Ward,  “Dynamic  Sociology,”  Vol.  II.,  p.  151  sq. ;  and  Marshall, 
“  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  Aesthetics,”  pp.  269  sq. 


384 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


against  itself,  as  do  the  pleasures  of  excess.  It  stimu¬ 
lates  ;  it  enhances  the  capacity  for  pleasure.  Personality, 
then,  experiencing  and  including  in  itself  all  the  satisfac¬ 
tions  of  its  own  activity  and  growth,  is  normally  accom¬ 
panied  by  a  cumulative  happiness. 

To  understand  the  nature  of  cumulative  happiness  it  is 
necessary  to  remember  that  pleasure  has  a  twofold  root. 
We  find  pleasure  in  spontaneous  activity;  we  are  subjects 
of  pleasurable  sensations  when  in  certain  ways  and  within 
certain  degrees  we  are  acted  upon. 

Some  of  the  most  perplexing  problems  of  ethics  and 
psychology  would  be  simplified  if  they  were  stated  in 
terms  of  this  familiar  truth.  Intuitionalists  tell  us  that 
pleasure-seeking  is  essential  evil,  and  the  source  of  moral 
wrong.  Pleasure,  they  say,  is  no  test,  or  measure,  or  veri¬ 
fication,  of  right.  To  choose  the  pleasurable  may  be  to 
violate  every  obligation ;  to  choose  the  path  of  duty  may 
be  to  encounter  suffering.  Utilitarians,  on  the  other  hand, 
admitting  that  duty  and  pleasure  do  not  always  coincide, 
argue  that  they  coincide  usually,  or  in  the  long  run.  Suf¬ 
fering  is  evil  in  itself ;  pleasure  is  good  in  itself.  Suffer¬ 
ing,  as  an  incident  of  duty,  is  justifiable  only  on  the 
presumption  that  the  way  of  duty  leads  to  a  larger  and 
completer  pleasure.  That  which  has  pain  for  its  normal 
end  cannot  be  duty.  The  very  proposition  is  a  contradic¬ 
tion  in  terms. 

If  we  look  more  closely,  however,  we  find  that  the  intui¬ 
tionalists  habitually  think  of  the  pleasure  that  immediately 
accompanies  activity  and  of  the  pains  that  come  later,  in 
remoter  consequences  reacting  upon  the  person  who,  in 
activity,  had  found  momentary  satisfaction.  The  utilita¬ 
rians,  on  the  contrary,  think  of  the  remoter  pleasure  and 
the  present  pain.  The  pleasure  in  their  scheme  is  that 
of  being  acted  upon ;  their  pain  is  the  pain  of  effort.  A 
youth,  for  example,  spends  his  nights  in  gambling.  The 
momentary  pleasure  is  keen,  the  subsequent  sorrow  of 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


385 


disgrace  is  overwhelming.  The  intuitionalist  calls  him 
a  pleasure-seeker  and  pronounces  pleasure-seeking  sinful. 
The  utilitarian  says  that  he  is  no  true  pleasure-seeker  at 
all,  and  calls  him  a  fool  for  not  knowing  what  true  pleas¬ 
ure  is.  Yet  both  are  right. 

What  we  call  “pleasure-seeking,”  in  the  language  of 
every-day  life,  is  not  a  “  seeking,”  but  a  yielding,  to  the 
intoxication  of  the  pleasure  that  accompanies  a  sponta¬ 
neous  activity  of  our  powers.  It  is  nearly  or  quite  dissoci¬ 
ated  from  any  thought  of  consequences,  of  being  in  turn 
acted  upon  by  the  outcome  of  our  deeds.  The  pleasures 
of  appetite  and  of  passion  are  of  this  kind,  as  are  those 
also  of  rivalry. 

What  we  call  “  utility,”  on  the  other  hand,  is  usually 
a  pleasure  of  being  acted  upon  by  some  external  person 
or  thing  in  consequence  of  some  act  that  we  have  per¬ 
formed,  not  for  the  sake  of  its  immediate  pleasurableness, 
but  solely  for  the  sake  of  the  remoter  consequence,  or 
reaction.  The  pleasures  of  wealth  and  reputation  are 
typical  of  utilities. 

These  distinctions  are  fundamental.  All  utilitarian  ef¬ 
fort,  I  repeat,  grows  out  of  the  pleasures  and  pains  that 
are  associated  with  the  reactions  of  our  activities,  and  not 
immediately  with  the  activities  themselves.  Something 
better  than  utilitarian  effort  grows  out  of  the  immediate 
pleasure  of  spontaneous  activity. 

For  the  pleasures  that  moral  consciousness  condemns  are 
not  the  only  pleasures  of  this  class,  as  the  intuitionalists 
know.  They  have  simply  chosen  to  call  the  pleasures  that 
they  approve  of  by  another  name.  The  pleasures  of  activ¬ 
ity  are  more  intense,  they  are  richer  and  deeper  than  the 
passive  pleasures  of  being  acted  upon.  The  pleasures  of 
sense  are  the  least  of  the  pleasures  of  activity.  All  the 
rational  “  joy  of  a  right  understanding,”  all  personal  love, 
friendship,  and  devotion,  all  gladness  of  self-sacrifice,  are 
satisfactions  that  are  immediately  and  inseparably  con- 
20 


386 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


nected  with  conscious  activity  itself,  apart  from  any  an¬ 
ticipated  pleasurableness  or  painfulness  of  the  reaction. 
Reverence,  love,  the  giving  of  one’s  self  for  another,  and 
creative  effort  in  all  its  forms  are  activities  that  are  recog¬ 
nized  as  good  in  themselves,  and  that  would  be  recognized 
as  good  if  existence  were  at  once  to  cease  and  no  reaction 
whatever  were  to  follow. 

Are  we  then  to  conclude  that  this  immediate  experience 
of  joy  is  the  sufficient  guide  of  life?  For  a  few  individ¬ 
uals  it  may  be ;  for  the  race  it  is  not.  Left  to  itself,  intui¬ 
tion  becomes  fanaticism ;  activity  becomes  intoxication,  and 
its  reaction  kills.  True  soberness  of  judgment  is  rarely 
maintained  save  through  the  practice  of  a  calm  calculation 
of  utility.  That  only  is  the  perfect  life  in  which  action  is 
good  in  itself,  and  its  reaction  also  is  happy  because  life- 
serving.  It  is  the  function  of  utilitarian  ethics  to  deter¬ 
mine  the  connections  between  conduct  and  its  reactions, 
and  to  make  clear  the  lines  of  duty  thereby  indicated.  It 
is  the  function  of  sociology  to  show  that  true  happiness  is 
necessarily  cumulative,  and  that,  in  the  organic  evolution 
of  personality  and  of  its  social  medium,  the  increase  of 
happiness  is  assured. 

Let  now  the  fact  of  psychical  determination  be  combined 
with  the  fact  of  cumulative  happiness. .  The  result  is  a 
larger  synthesis,  which  is  nothing  less  than  a  conscious 
policy,  and  a  factor  in  social  evolution.  Knowing  that 
personality  depends  on  conditions  that  are  established  only 
by  association,  and  knowing  that  we  have  the  power  to 
react  on  our  environment,  we  seek  to  increase  our  satis¬ 
factions  by  perfecting  our  social  relations.  Thus  the  social 
function,  the  evolution  of  personality,  reacts  on  social  co¬ 
hesion  and  structure.  Accidental  association  is  supple¬ 
mented  by  an  association  that  is  volitional  in  its  origin 
and  in  its  conduct. 

Volitional  association  is  not  to  be  identified  with  pur- 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


387 


posive  association  or  contrasted  with  autogenous  society. 
Purposive  association  is  of  course  volitional,  but  so  also 
to  a  great  extent  is  autogenous  society.  Volitional  asso¬ 
ciation  must  be  contrasted  with  an  accidental  association. 
When,  however,  accidental  association  is  often  repeated, 
a  volitional  association  develops  from  it,  and  only  then  is 
there  a  true  organic  society.  The  union  of  the  sexes, 
which  autogenous  society  presupposes,  is  volitional  asso¬ 
ciation  in  its  primordial  form.  In  the  lowest  savage 
groups  there  is  occasionally  a  brief  volitional  association 
of  many  individuals  for  some  momentary  object.  And, 
finally,  in  highly  developed  societies,  it  is  after  all  by 
volitional  association  that  the  great  fabric  is  held  together. 
Men  born  into  social  relations  do  not  readily  break  from 
them.  The  bonds  of  traditional  belief  that  so  firmly  hold 
primitive  men  within  a  narrow  round  of  task  and  ritual, 
are  permanently  loosened  only  by  reflective  thought.  The 
evolution  of  reflective  thought,  however,  is  one  of  the  in¬ 
evitable  results  of  social  growth,  and,  when  reflection  has 
become  in  a  measure  the  habit  of  all  men,  it  is  turned 
upon  every  relation  of  social  life.  If  then,  in  their  matu¬ 
rity,  men  continue  unrebelliously  to  live  in  membership 
of  the  social  body  into  which  they  were  born  and  in 
which  they  have  been  reared,  it  is  because  they  will  to 
do  so. 

Volitional  association  is  not  always  voluntary  on  the 
part  of  all  the  individuals  that  are  associated.  The 
superior  will  of  one  person  may  constrain  the  inferior 
wills  of  many.  Coercion  plays  in  social  evolution  a  part 
scarcely  less  important  than  that  of  voluntary  association. 
It  is  not  necessary,  however,  to  remember  this  distinction 
in  the  further  analysis  of  volitional  association.  The 
phases  of  association  that  are  now  to  be  described  are 
exhibited  by  both  the  coercive  and  the  voluntary  forms. 

The  association  of  activity  has  its  ground  in  volition. 
Many  men  simultaneously  will  to  do  the  same  thing  and  to 


388 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


cooperate  in  the  act.  The  forms  of  the  association  of 
activity  are  innumerable.  Domestic  and  public,  industrial 
and  military,  deliberative  and  recreative,  devotional  and 
festive,  philanthropic  and  criminal,  scientific  and  artistic, 
educational  and  reactionary,  —  these  are  but  a  few  broadly 
descriptive  terms  under  each  of  which  may  be  grouped  an 
endless  variety  of  cooperative  activities.  By  far  the  greater 
part  of  the  phenomena  called  “  sociological,”  whether  they 
be  tribal  or  national,  economic  or  political,  religious,  edu¬ 
cational,  or  merely  pleasurable,  may  be  included  under  the 
one  descriptive  general  term,  —  the  association  of  activity. 

The  simplest  coordinations  of  social  activity  are  auto¬ 
matic  ;  each  individual  acts  without  conscious  reference 
to  the  acts  of  others.  Such  coordinations  are  nothing 
more  than  simultaneous  performances  of  like  acts.  They 
are  brought  about  by  external  conditions,  the  simplest  of 
which  are  physical.  The  husbandmen  of  a  rural  village, 
as  together  they  plough  in  the  spring,  and  together  go  forth 
as  reapers  in  autumn,  but  follow  the  seasons  of  seed-time 
and  harvest.  More  complex  conditions  are  created  by  social 
evolution.  The  market  wagons  that  move  along  suburban 
roads  in  early  morning  conform  to  the  diurnal  rhythm  of 
life  in  the  awakening  city. 

The  interpretation  of  simultaneous  action  is,  of  course, 
found  in  the  psychological  fact  that  mental  changes  and 
relations  correspond  to  external  relations.  When  exposed 
to  the  same  conditions,  associated  men  receive  like  im¬ 
pressions;  and  to  the  extent  that  they  are  similarly 
affected  by  their  common  circumstances  they  form  like 
purposes,  which  result  in  common  action. 

In  a  higher  type  of  associated  action,  each  individual 
acts  with  conscious  reference  to  the  like  acts  of  others. 
This  is  the  beginning  of  a  coordination  through  the  social 
self-consciousness. 

The  coordination  of  consciously  associated  action,  like 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


389 


that  of  unconcerted  action,  follows  necessarily  from  psy¬ 
chological  laws.  In  the  account  of  imitation  it  was  ex¬ 
plained  why  unreflecting  men  impulsively  follow  any 
example.1  Imitation,  as  was  shown,  not  only  creates 
habits,  forms,  and  types ;  it  also  produces  violent  out¬ 
bursts  of  united  action  and  great  social  movements.  A 
mental  impulse  is  communicated  from  individual  to  indi¬ 
vidual  and  gathers  momentum  in  its  progress,  until  thou¬ 
sands  are  borne  onward  by  it  in  crusades  and  pilgrimages 
for  which  it  might  be  difficult  to  find  a  rational  excuse. 

Imitation,  however,  is  conscious  coordination  in  its  most 
indefinite  and  transient  form. 

A  more  definite  coordination  results  from  individual 
superiority  of  intellect  to  plan  and  of  will  to  execute.  In 
consequence  of  the  relations  of  parenthood  and  sonship, 
every  individual  has  both  the  instinct  to  rule  and  the  in¬ 
stinct  to  obey.  Therefore  among  individuals  unequal  in 
personal  power  there  is  coordination  through  leadership. 
Hence  follows  the  possibility  of  slavery  and  serfdom,  no 
less  than  the  possibility  of  voluntary  allegiance.  Directive 
intelligence,  combined  with  arbitrary  power,  creates  the 
one  ;  combined  with  a  strong  but  not  arbitrary  character, 
it  creates  the  other. 

The  prevalent  impression  that  rulership  among  men  is 
maintained  by  the  brute  strength  of  the  rulers  is,  on  the 
whole,  wrong. 

The  real  source  of  a  ruler’s  power  to  aggrandize  himself 
at  the  expense  of  the  ruled  is  always  found  in  their  volun¬ 
tary  deference  and  self-taxation.  The  natural  instinct  of 
men  that  are  conscious  of  their  dependence  on  leadership 
is  to  give  to  those  that  already  have ;  to  make  obeisance 
and  to  do  homage.  It  is  impossible  to  find  a  savage  tribe 
that  does  not  voluntarily  load  its  chief  with  presents, 
voluntarily  toil  to  build  his  house,  and  voluntarily  submit 
to  every  kind  of  privation  in  order  that  the  great  man  may 

1  Ante ,  p.  110,  and  cf.  Bagehot’s  “  Physics  and  Politics.” 


390 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


be  comfortable.  In  civil  states  the  bane  of  both  political 
and  industrial  democracy  is  the  unreasoning  faith  of  the 
commonplace  many  in  the  adroit  and  daring  few  who  can 
suggest  and  lead.  Furthermore,  as  Adam  Smith  says: 
“  Upon  this  disposition  of  mankind,  to  go  along  with  all 
the  passions  of  the  rich  and  powerful,  is  founded  the  dis¬ 
tinction  of  ranks  and  the  order  of  society.  Our  obsequi¬ 
ousness  to  our  superiors  more  frequently  arises  from  our 
admiration  for  the  advantages  of  their  situation,  than  from 
any  private  expectations  of  benefit  from  their  good-will.” 
“  That  kings  are  the  servants  of  the  people,  to  be  obeyed, 
resisted,  deposed,  or  punished,  as  the  public  convenience 
may  require,  is  the  doctrine  of  reason  and  philosophy; 
but  it  is  not  the  doctrine  of  nature.”  1 

Leadership  takes  two  forms.  One  is  executive  ability ; 
it  is  the  immediate  power  over  men  that  is  exemplified  in 
the  military  chief  and  in  the  employer  of  labour.  The 
other  is  a  superior  insight  into  things  that  are  mysterious 
to  the  common  mind ;  it  gives  ascendency  over  belief  and 
feeling;  it  is  seen  in  the  medicine  man,  the  priest,  the 
prophet,  the  man  of  science,  the  philosopher,  and  the 
teacher.  The  union  of  these  two  elements  of  leadership 
is  seen  in  the  highest  type  of  the  statesman. 

The  third  and  perfect  type  of  conscious  coordination  is 
effected  by  the  highest  mental  processes ;  namely,  those  of 
intellectual  and  sympathetic  comprehension.  The  result¬ 
ing  cooperation  is  concerted  action.  While  on  its  physical 
side  life  is  an  adjustment  of  internal  relations  to  external 
relations,  on  its  conscious  side  it  is  much  more  than  an 
adjustment.  It  is  a  comprehension  by  each  mind  of  some 
portion  of  the  thought  and  feeling  of  all  other  minds.  In 
this  phenomenon  lies  the  possibility  of  a  perfect  social 
coordination  without  the  sacrifice  of  individual  freedom. 

1  “  The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,”  pp.  88,  89.  Smith’s  account  of 
the  personal  distinction  of  Louis  XIV.  (p.  91)  is  suggestive.  Bagehot  elabo¬ 
rates  the  idea  in  his  treatment  of  the  crown  in  “The  English  Constitution.” 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


391 


Agreement  in  thought  and  feeling  becomes  the  ground  of 
a  substantial  unity  of  purpose.  The  group  of  associated 
persons  becomes  a  community. 

Coordination  is  closely  related  to  other  phases  of  associ¬ 
ation  that  may  be  described  as  degree  of  intimacy  and 
degree  of  definiteness.  Intimacy  may  be  either  physical 
or  mental,  or  it  may  be  both.  So  far  as  physical  crowding 
results  from  conditions  of  industry  and  wealth-distribution 
over  which  individuals  have  little  personal  control,  it  does 
not  fall  within  a  study  of  volitional  association ;  but  so 
far  as  it  is  a  consequence  of  deliberate  choice,  it  is  a  phe¬ 
nomenon  of  volitional  association  and  has  a  serious  signifi¬ 
cance  in  its  relations  to  certain  social  ills.  Most  of  the 
communistic  schemes  proposed  since  Fourier’s  day  have 
involved  a  physical  intimacy  in  the  association  of  daily 
life  that  has  been  so  far  distasteful  as  to  prevent  the 
general  adoption  of  arrangements  that  offer  economic 
advantages  over  the  individual  household.  Different 
nationalities,  however,  regard  these  arrangements  with 
different  feelings.  The  Frenchman  often  likes  them ;  the 
Englishman  and  the  American  yield  to  them  only  under 
necessity  and  become  accustomed  to  them  slowly.  The 
earliest  distributions  of  the  farming  population  in  America 
illustrate  the  same  reluctance  to  live  too  much  with  one’s 
neighbours.  The  first  settlements  were  made  in  villages ; 
but  when  emigration  from  these  began,  it  was  the  self- 
sufficing  farm  homestead,  and  not  the  compact  farm  village 
of  the  Old  World,  that  for  a  time  became  characteristic  of 
our  rural  population. 

In  older  communities,  however,  where  crowding  has  been 
produced  by  economic  conditions,  an  acquired  fondness 
for  intimate  association  with  fellow-beings  may  become 
pathological  through  an  impairment  of  physical  and  moral 
vigour.  It  is  extremely  difficult,  for  example,  to  divert 
the  tenement-house  population  of  city  slums  to  wholesome 


392 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


rural  environments,  even  when  definite  occupation  and 
good  wages  are  promised. 

When  the  physical  crowding  of  wage-earners  in  factory 
towns  and  city  tenements  has  once  been  effected  by  eco¬ 
nomic  causes,  a  secondary  sociological  factor  enters  into  the 
feelings  of  the  well-to-do  and  intensifies  their  own  dislike 
of  close  association  in  daily  life.  It  has  become  a  mark 
of  class  differences.  It  therefore  happens  that  just  when 
land  becomes  most  valuable,  and  the  need  of  more  room, 
light,  and  air  for  the  multitude  most  imperative,  the 
wealthy  attach  the  greatest  importance  to  the  ownership 
of  separate  homes  in  city  and  country  and  to  laying  field 
to  field  in  enlargement  of  their  country  estates. 

Mental  intimacy  may  vary  to  a  considerable  extent  in¬ 
dependently  of  physical  propinquity.  It  consists  in  an 
active  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling.  It  may  exist 
between  persons  widely  separated  in  space,  and  it  depends 
therefore  on  association  of  activity,  while  physical  intimacy 
is  a  phase  of  association  of  presence.  Mental  intimacy 
varies  to  a  considerable  extent  with  race  and  nationality. 
The  Tahitians  and  Samoans  in  the  South  Pacific  Ocean  are 
described  as  more  sociable  than  the  more  intellectual 
Fijians.  The  Eskimo  are  more  fond  of  social  intercourse 
than  are  the  red  men  ;  the  negroes  than  the  Bushmen, 
Hottentots,  and  Kaffirs ;  the  Irish  and  Germans  than  the 
English.  In  the  same  society  intimacy  varies  with  pur¬ 
posive  association,  with  class  characteristics,  and  with 
town  and  country  residence. 

We  should  have  an  inadequate  idea  of  social  phenomena 
if  we  observed  only  the  facts  of  association.  In  all  asso¬ 
ciation  there  are  latent  forces  of  dissociation,  which  at 
any  moment  may  become  active,  destroying  the  bonds 
that  hold  the  social  groups  together,  and  dispersing  the 
elements  of  social  activity  for  reunion  in  new  relations. 
The  dissolution  of  assemblies  and  corporations,  the  dis- 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


393 


banding  of  armies,  the  desertion  of  cities  once  teeming 
with  restless  populations,  heresy  and  schism,  rebellion  and 
secession,  have  not  been  less  conspicuous  or  less  fateful 
than  the  slowly  evolved  associations  that  they  have  de¬ 
stroyed.  These  dissociations  that  always  limit  associ¬ 
ation  are  psychologically  analogous  to  the  process  by 
which  the  individual  mind  in  perception  rejects  some 
elements  of  sensation  and  in  reasoning  rejects  some  ele¬ 
ments  of  perception.  A  community  of  feeling  or  an  in¬ 
tellectual  agreement  is  destroyed  when  social  groups  are 
sundered.  Thus  limited  by  latent  or  by  active  dissociation, 
the  extent  of  association  is  seen  to  be  a  sociological  fact  of 
the  utmost  significance.  Association  of  great  extent  means 
either  that  the  bonds  of  thought  and  feeling  are  many  and 
strong,  or  that  the  purpose  of  the  association  is  strictly 
limited  to  a  single  definite  object.  If  from  50,000,000  to 
100,000,000  individuals  hold  together  in  a  strongly  united 
political  society,  innumerable  spiritual  bonds  have  become 
marvellously  interwoven.  Yet  in  a  particular  work,  as,  for 
example,  in  relieving  a  district  that  has  been  ravaged  by 
famine,  thousands  of  individuals  of  different  nationalities, 
beliefs,  and  interests  may  cooperate  with  no  other  bonds 
of  union  than  a  common  knowledge  and  a  momentary 
sympathy. 

The  extent  of  association  varies  also  with  social  organ¬ 
ization.  Extent  conditions  the  structure,  but  structure  in 
turn  conditions  the  extent  of  association.  On  the  one 
hand,  a  small  group  cannot  be  minutely  subdivided ;  it 
cannot  show  a  great  variety  of  social  relations.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  large  association  cannot  hold  together  unless 
it  develops  structure.  The  simple  structure  that  is  seen 
in  the  subordination  of  a  nearly  homogeneous  horde  to  the 
coercive  rule  of  a  chief  may  suffice,  but,  if  it  does,  the 
vigorous  harshness  of  his  rule  must  increase  and  the  ma¬ 
chinery  of  administration  must  become  more  complicated 
as  his  subjects  multiply.  The  extension  of  voluntary  asso- 


394 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ciation  may  be  a  direct  consequence  of  complexity  if  it  is 
due  to  the  confederation  of  many  small  associations  that 
have  similar  purposes.  Modern  industrial  associations 
have  grown  mainly  by  this  process.  But,  whether  com¬ 
pounded  or  not,  the  voluntary  association  must  differen¬ 
tiate  as  it  enlarges.  Inequality  must  appear  and  the 
many  must  be  organized  by  the  few. 

The  strength  of  the  social  motives  that  is  measured  by 
the  extent,  is  measured  also  by  the  permanence  of  asso¬ 
ciation.  The  acquaintance  that  ends  with  a  railway 
journey  and  the  friendship  that  strengthens  through  life, 
are  types  of  innumerable  phenomena  of  conscious  asso¬ 
ciation.  The  marriage  that  lasts  but  a  few  months  and 
that  which  the  poet  celebrates  as  “  untouched  by  any 
shade  of  years  the  political  cooperation  that  ends  with 
a  battle  of  boomerangs  ;  and  the  English  state,  stronger 
after  a  thousand  years  than  in  the  days  of  Plantagenet  or 
Stuart,  —  these  are  but  examples  at  random  of  the  con¬ 
trasts  that  continually  meet  the  student  who  undertakes 
to  observe  the  degrees  of  social  cohesion.  He  finds  them 
never  twice  the  same.  Association  is  ever  growing  stronger 
or  weaker.  If  stronger,  it  is  because  the  consciousness  of 
kind  is  becoming  both  deeper  and  more  comprehensive  ;  be¬ 
cause  knowledge  is  ripening  and  thought  is  becoming  more 
catholic  ;  because  the  purposes  of  men  are  becoming  more 
serious,  and  their  ideals  nobler.  No  nation  that  has  low¬ 
ered  its  aspirations  or  discouraged  the  spirit  of  inquiry  has 
grown  stronger  through  the  centuries. 

A  better  social  organization  reacts  on  social  function. 
The  increased  cohesion  and  the  coordinated  action  are 
helpful  in  the  struggle  for  existence  ;  the  combination  and 
the  coordination  of  effects  contribute  to  personal  develop¬ 
ment.  The  most  definite  forms  of  volitional  association 
are  positive  institutions,  or  forms  of  associated  activity 
that  are  authorized  and  are  moulded  by  sovereignty. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


395 


Opinions  have  differed  concerning  the  value  of  authorita¬ 
tive  institutions  to  the  individual  personality.  One  view 
is  ably  presented  by  Mr.  Daniel  Greenleaf  Thompson,1  who 
thinks  that  institutions  dwarf  personality.  He  would  have 
their  activity  greatly  diminished  and  would  leave  the 
widest  possible  opportunity  to  the  individual. 

It  is  true  that  the  development  of  the  individual  de¬ 
pends  on  wide  opportunities  for  self-activity.  An  institu. 
tional  life,  so  ordered  that  authority  crushes  liberty,  is  fatal 
to  the  full  development  of  rational  life.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  liberty  itself  and  the  whole  development  of  person¬ 
ality  presuppose  certain  beliefs  and  obediences.  All  of 
that  inner  determining  power  which  is  characteristic  of 
personality,  implies  certain  beliefs  in  regard  to  the  world 
wherein  man  finds  himself,  and  certain  obediences,  corre¬ 
sponding  to  the  beliefs.  Nor  are  these  enough.  If  the 
highest  qualities  of  human  personality  are  to  appear,  or 
even  if  that  liberty  on  which  personal  growth  depends  is 
to  exist,  there  must  be  some  stability  and  some  continuity 
in  human  life,  and,  besides  the  elementary  security  that 
the  simplest  association  affords,  there  must  be  some  system¬ 
atic  restraint  of  brutality  and  some  systematic  regulation 
of  social  relations.  Beliefs  and  obediences  must  take  out¬ 
ward  form  in  custom  and  law,  which  must  be  administered 
and  enforced.  Without  government  either  those  indi¬ 
viduals  in  whom  exist  some  germs  of  higher  thought  and 
feeling  are  overcome  by  force  or  their  energies  are  diverted 
from  intellectual  and  moral  progress  to  the  work  of  self- 
defence.2  We  cannot  imagine  the  reasoning  powers  of  a 
Newton,  the  creative  genius  of  a  Shakespeare  or  of  a  Bee¬ 
thoven,  or  the  fidelity  of  a  Lincoln,  in  a  community  where 
life  was  so  uncertain,  and  its  interests  were  so  discon¬ 
nected,  as  to  destroy  all  opportunity  for  reflection  and  to 
afford  no  promise  of  reward  for  steadfastness  of  purpose. 

1  Cf.  “The  Problem  of  Evil.” 

2  Cf.  Fiske,  “  The  Destiny  of  Man.” 


396 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


All  experience  has  shown  that  it  is  only  in  institutional 
life  that  the  needful  combination  of  stability,  continuity, 
and  liberty  is  secured.  In  human  history  there  has  been 
no  other  political  liberty  than  constitutional  liberty. 
There  has  been  no  individual  freedom  but  under  govern¬ 
ment  and  law. 1  Moreover,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how,  apart 
from  institutions,  the  continuity  of  what  is  best  in  tradi¬ 
tion  —  the  common  law,  art,  and  science — could  have  been 
maintained  for  many  generations  in  the  larger  societies. 
Indeed,  historically  it  has  been  only  after  functional  asso¬ 
ciation  has  become  institutional  that  there  has  been  a 
sufficient  continuity  and  variety  of  experience  to  create 
positive  science,  fine  art,  and  ethics.  Only  after  liberal 
institutions  have  been  established  for  the  purpose  of  com¬ 
paring  the  experiences,  the  beliefs,  the  knowledge,  and  the 
practice  of  different  societies,  can  science  grow  into  a 
critical  and  positive  philosophy ;  can  religion  develop  from 
tribal  worship  into  a  deep  and  reverent  consciousness  of 
the  transcendent  relations  of  personality;  or  can  ethics 
grow  out  of  morals,  or  fine  art  out  of  the  arts  of  recrea¬ 
tion. 

Institutions  thus  combine  the  results  of  the  contact  of 
the  mind  of  one  society  with  that  of  another.  Without 
institutions  societies  would  still  modify  one  another,  but 
there  would  be  no  enduring  products  of  their  intercourse. 
Institutions  are  the  organs  that  conserve  what  is  best  in 
the  past  of  the  human  race,  while  to  the  individual  they 
offer  fields  of  ever-widening  activity. 

Whether  institutional  or  not,  however,  the  social  life 
and  the  social  mind  must  be  embodied  in  articulate  form. 
The  mature  man  is  moulded  into  individuality  not  through 
deliberate  exercises  of  mind  and  will,  undertaken  for  their 
effects,  but  through  the  daily  struggle  to  fulfil  the  duties 
that  pertain  to  his  position  in  an  organized  community. 

1  Cf.  Burgess,  “Political  Science  and  Comparative  Constitutional  Law,” 
and  Lieber,  “  Civil  Liberty  and  Self-Government.” 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


397 


In  a  word,  the  medium  in  which  the  highest  develop¬ 
ment  of  personality  is  possible,  is  a  society  that  has  a 
specialized  constitution,  and  that  presents  many  degrees 
of  composition.  The  individual  must  have  a  definite  part 
in  the  division  of  labour,  and  in  the  common  life  of  the 
nation,  the  local  community,  and  the  family. 

Whether  his  daily  duty  identifies  him  with  productive 
industry,  or  with  directive  functions,  or  with  the  exten¬ 
sion  of  knowledge,  or  with  the  spiritualization  of  life,  the 
individual  is  affected  by  all  of  these  interests  if  there  is 
no  derangement  of  the  social  organization.  The  division 
of  labour  may  have  its  evil  side,  but  those  economic  writers 
are  mistaken  who  see  only  an  economic  gain  in  the  division 
of  labour,  and  deny  that  it  can  be  morally  and  mentally 
beneficial  to  individuals.  The  division  of  labour  gives  a 
definite  aim  to  life.  It  ensures  a  definite  discipline  and 
that  minute  thoroughness  which  every  investigator  knows 
is  one  of  the  essential  conditions  of  a  rational  mental 
habit.  At  the  same  time  it  releases  men  from  their  tasks 
to  enjoy  more  hours  of  leisure  than  they  could  otherwise 
command. 

Moreover,  the  economic  side  of  the  division  of  labour 
is  not  that  unmoral  or  non-intellectual  thing  that  it  has  too 
often  been  represented  to  be.  The  struggle  to  rise  in  the 
world  is  the  means  by  which  the  strongest  and  many  of  the 
best  of  human  traits  are  produced.  Failure  in  this  strug¬ 
gle,  after  it  has  been  begun,  is  very  nearly  a  total  failure 
in  life.  The  great  moralists  and  philosophers  of  all  ages 
have  recognized  that  poverty  is  as  destructive  of  intellect¬ 
ual  and  moral  freedom  as  is  luxury.1  The  simplicity  that 
they  have  commended  and  the  luxury  that  they  have 
condemned  are  relative.  As  society  becomes  complex 
and  cosmopolitan,  the  range  of  intellectual  interests,  of 
aesthetic  pleasures,  and  of  philanthropic  opportunity  is 
widened,  and  a  greater  amount  of  wealth  is  necessary  to  a 


1  Cf.  Plato,  “  The  Republic.” 


398 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


perfect  personal  development.  Besides,  with  multiplying 
forms  of  wealth,  the  necessity  of  making  rational  choices 
and  combinations  becomes  ever  more  imperative  and  more 
difficult,  and  thus  a  continuous  intellectual  and  moral 
discipline  is  maintained.1 

Furthermore,  it  is  neither  the  life  of  humanity  in  its 
vast  entirety  nor  the  life  of  unorganized  masses  of  men, 
that  chiefly  develops  the  individual.  He  is  developed  by 
the  life  of  definite  groups,  in  which  he  shares  the  common 
interest.  The  ideals  and  aspirations  of  the  nation,  which 
awaken  the  enthusiasm  of  patriotism ;  the  common  inter¬ 
ests  of  the  city  or  commune,  in  which  one  feels  the  pride 
of  citizenship, — these  have  always  been  necessary  to  per¬ 
fect  character,  and  without  them  there  has  been  neither 
literature  nor  art.  As  for  the  family  life,  however  its 
form  may  change  from  time  to  time,  some  definiteness 
and  continuity  of  home  life,  and  therefore  of  the  rela¬ 
tions  between  man  and  woman  and  between  parents  and 
children,  are  indispensable  to  the  development  of  human 
nature  in  its  completeness.  It  is  these  relationships  that 
create  forethought,  that  soften  dispositions,  that  suggest 
self-sacrifice,  that  pass  on  the  acquirements  of  one  genera¬ 
tion  to  the  generations  that  come  after. 

Thus,  so  far  as  volitional  association  has  to  be  accounted 
for  by  a  raison  d'etre ,  it  has  a  complete  explanation  in  its 
reactions  upon  the  ethical  and  mental  phases  of  individual 
life.  Volitional  association  is  functional  in  maintaining 
the  conditions  necessary  to  the  highest  personal  evolution. 

Since  the  tendencies  towards  both  cohesion  and  disper¬ 
sion  are  persistent,  the  social  system  simultaneously  ex¬ 
hibits  phenomena  of  combination  and  of  competition,  of 
communism  and  of  individualism.  Neither  order  of  phe- 

1  Cf.  Patten,  “Economic  Causes  of  Moral  Progress,”  Annals  of  the 
American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  III.,  No.  2, 
September,  1892. 


THE  SOCIAL  PROCESS:  PSYCHICAL 


399 


nomena  can  ever  exclude  the  other,  but  at  any  given  time 
one  or  the  other  order  may  be  ascendant  and  there  may  be 
a  rhythm  of  alternating  ascendency  of  combination  or  com¬ 
petition,  communism  or  individualism. 

The  individual,  therefore,  is  not  prior  to  society  or 
society  to  the  individual.  Community  is  not  precedent 
to  competition  or  competition  to  community.  From  the 
first,  competition  and  community,  society  and  the  individ¬ 
ual,  have  been  coordinate.  Society  and  the  individual 
have  always  been  acting  and  reacting  upon  each  other ; 
competition  and  community  have  always  been  limiting 
each  other. 

The  mutual  modification  of  social  units  is  chiefly  through 
their  mental  and  moral  natures.  The  psychical  phenome¬ 
non  is  here  prior  to  secondary  physical  phenomena.  Each 
individual  consciousness  becomes  adjusted  to  the  social 
state.  Each  begins  to  require  companionship,  and  each  to 
comprehend  some  portion  of  the  consciousness  of  others. 
Presently  all  individuals,  to  some  extent,  think,  feel,  and 
will  alike,  and  each  consciousness  becomes  a  microcosm 
of  the  social  system  in  all  its  activities. 

The  physical  side  of  these  modifications  is  their  organi¬ 
zation  in  brain  and  nerve  structure,  and  in  muscular  habits 
and  aptitudes.  By  means  of  this  physical  organization, 
in  cooperation  with  the  other  essential  factors  of  language, 
literature,  and  art,  the  social  system  is  conserved,  and  is 
transmitted  from  generation  to  generation. 

Thus  the  modification  of  social  units  by  one  another, 
the  modification  of  society  by  its  units  and  the  modifica¬ 
tion  of  the  units  by  society  are  always  organic  phenom¬ 
ena  ;  they  are  processes  of  psychological  assimilation  and 
biological  evolution.  Social  evolution,  therefore,  is  a 
reciprocal  adjustment  of  external  and  internal  relations. 


CHAPTER  III 

SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 

What  now  are  the  laws  of  the  social  process,  and  what 
is  the  ultimate  nature  of  social  causation  ? 

Since  society  is  essentially  a  psychical  phenomenon  that 
is  conditioned  by  a  physical  process,  the  strictly  sociologi¬ 
cal  laws  are,  first,  laws  of  the  psychical  process,  and,  second, 
laws  of  the  limitation  of  the  psychical  by  the  physical 
process.  Volition  acts  upon  the  social  process  through 
impulse  and  imitation,  and,  consciously,  through  rational 
choice.  The  laws  of  the  volitional  process  therefore  are 
laws  of  imitation  and  of  social  choice.  The  laws  of  limi¬ 
tation  by  the  physical  process  are  laws  of  selection  and 
survival. 

There  are  two  great  laws  of  imitation,  which  have  been 
formulated  by  M.  Tarde.  In  the  absence  of  interferences, 
imitations  spread  in  a  geometrical  progression.1  If  a  new 
example  is  copied  by  a  single  individual,  there  are  immedi¬ 
ately  two  example  centres.  If  each  is  again  copied  by  a 
single  individual,  there  are  four  example  centres,  and  if 
each  of  these  is  copied  by  a  single  individual,  the  example 
centres  become  eight.  It  is  the  geometrical  progression 
of  imitation  that  accounts  for  the  extreme  rapidity  with 
which  new  words,  new  fashions,  fads,  panics,  and  revolu¬ 
tions  sometimes  spread.  The  second  law  of  imitation  was 
mentioned  in  the  account  of  the  forms  of  association.2 

1  “  Les  lois  de  limitation,”  p.  18. 

400 


2  Ante ,  p.  111. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


401 


Imitations  are  refracted  by  tlieir  media.1  Words,  customs, 
laws,  religions,  and  institutions  are  modified  as  they  pass 
from  race  to  race  and  from  age  to  age. 

The  laws  of  rational  social  choice  are  unchanging  rela¬ 
tions  between  the  groupings  of  social  values  and  the  forms 
of  social  conduct.  The  grouping  of  social  values  is  the 
antecedent,  the  form  of  social  conduct  is  the  consequent. 
Given  a  certain  combination  of  social  values,  a  particular 
kind  of  social  conduct  will  follow  if  it  is  determined  by 
rational  choice. 

In  order  to  understand  the  groupings  of  social  values, 
it  is  necessary  to  recur  to  the  process  by  which  subjective 
values  of  any  kind  arise  in  individual  minds,  and  especially 
to  note  certain  steps  that  have  not  received  attention  in 
studies  of  economic  values,  but  which  have  importance  for 
the  theory  of  ethical  and  social  values. 

In  all  choice  the  mind  contemplates  two  or  more  of  its 
own  states,  or  two  or  more  experiences,  activities,  methods, 
rules,  plans,  conditions,  or  objects,  and  finds  itself  regard¬ 
ing  them  with  unequal  degrees  of  desire,  and  with  unequal 
degrees  of  approval.  Desire  is  feeling ;  approval  is  a  judg¬ 
ment  ;  it  is  a  recognition  that  the  experience,  the  object, 
or  the  act  under  consideration  possesses  an  element  or  a 
quality  that  is  deemed  important,  or  that  it  conforms  to  a 
standard  or  to  a  test.  The  choice  is  completed  when  one 
of  the  conflicting  objects  or  courses  is  taken  or  is  allowed, 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  others. 

Comparing  our  experiences  of  choice,  we  discover  that 
we  do  not  always  approve  of  what  we  desire  and  do  not 
always  allow  or  take  that  thing  or  that  course  of  which 
we  approve.  True  choice  is  determined  by  approval,  or 
at  least  it  occurs  after  approval  has  been  contemplated, 
even  though  judgment  is  finally  overcome  by  antagonistic 
desire.  The  laws  of  rational  social  choice  pertain  only  to 

1  Tarde,  op.  cit.,  p.  24. 

2d 


402 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


phenomena  in  which  approval  is  a  factor.  Volition  in 
which  desire  is  the  sole  motive  is  but  impulsive  or  imi¬ 
tative. 

Generalizing  our  experiences  of  choice,  we  call  good 
those  states,  experiences,  things,  and  acts  that  we  approve 
of,  and  those  states,  experiences,  things,  and  acts  that  we 
disapprove  of  we  call  bad.  This  is  only  another  way  of 
saying  that  goodness  is  an  abstraction  from  the  various 
states  of  mind  and  qualities  of  acts  and  of  things  that  we 
approve  of  when  we  pass  judgment  upon  them. 

So  many  states  of  mind,  so  many  objects,  and  so  many 
acts  lack  some  important  element  or  quality,  or  fall  below 
our  standards,  and  so  often  the  standards  themselves  are 
raised  by  the  discovery  that  we  can  attain  higher  degrees 
of  excellence  than  we  have  known  hitherto,  that  our  con¬ 
ception  of  goodness  is  converted  into  an  ideal,  which  we 
endeavour  to  realize.  The  ideal  varies,  and  different  states 
and  qualities  that  are  approved  of  are  more  or  less  esteemed 
as  character  and  intelligence  develop.  Realization  of  the 
ideal  good  implies  an  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  Ac¬ 
cording  to  their  intelligence,  men  correctly  or  incorrectly 
estimate  the  efficiency  of  means,  and,  according  to  their 
judgments  of  the  importance  and  the  efficiency  of  a  means, 
have  they  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  esteem  for  it. 

In  the  analysis  of  economic  value  I  have  shown  that  sub¬ 
jective  value  in  the  economic  sense  is  a  degree  of  esteem.1 
Similar  reasoning  would  justify  the  assertion  that  subjec¬ 
tive  value,  in  both  the  ethical  and  the  sociological  senses 
also,  is  a  degree  of  esteem.  As  all  subjective  values  are 
included  in  these  three  categories,  we  may  combine  our 
definitions  in  the  generalization  that  a  degree  of  esteem 
for  any  state  of  mind  or  for  any  quality  that  is  approved 
of  and  considered  good,  or  for  any  quality  that  is  regarded 
as  an  essential  element  in  the  ideal  good,  or  for  any  thing, 
act,  or  relation  that  is  a  means  to  the  attainment  of  an 

1  See  ante ,  pp.  '43,  44. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


403 


ideal  good,  is  a  subjective  value.  It  is  an  economic 
value  if  the  approved  state  of  mind  is  one  of  satisfaction 
attained  through  the  appeasing  of  want  by  a  material 
means,  or  through  a  physical  agency,  or  if  the  object 
valued  is  a  physical  means  of  satisfying  a  want.  It  is  an 
ethical  value  if  the  approved  state  of  mind  is  one  of  inter¬ 
nal  harmony,  or  if  the  means  is  a  deed  or  a  course  of  con¬ 
duct.  It  is  a  social  value  if  the  thing  valued  is  a  social 
kind,  type,  characteristic,  or  condition,  or  if  the  means  is 
a  social  element,  relation,  activity,  or  possession,  which  is 
conducive  to  a  social  good. 

The  science  of  ethics  examines  critically  the  elements 
that  enter  into  the  conception  of  goodness  and  the  criteria 
that  are  applied  to  experiences,  objects,  actions,  and  rela¬ 
tions,  in  order  that  it  may  arrive  at  a  true  notion  of  the 
ideal  good.  Sociology  must  examine  them  historically  and 
inductively,  —  in  their  evolutionary  aspect,  —  as  a  part  of 
its  study  of  the  process  of  social  choice. 

Elements  and  criteria  of  the  ideal  good  are  of  two  widely 
contrasted  kinds.  Some  are  subjective ;  they  are  states  of 
mind  or  qualities  of  conduct  or  character  that  are  regarded 
,  as  inherently  excellent.  Others  are  objective ;  they  are 
relations  of  adaptation  to  an  external  world.  Pleasure, 
for  example,  is  a  subjective  element  of  the  ideal  good; 
survival  is  an  objective  criterion.  Systems  of  ethics  have 
been  ruined  by  a  failure  to  separate  the  subjective  from 
the  objective  elements  and  criteria.  Sociology  must  not 
repeat  the  error. 

The  original  element  in  any  subjective  value  is  either 
a  state  of  mind  which  is  accepted  as  good,  or  a  subjective 
criterion  of  goodness.  If,  for  example,  pleasure  is  pro¬ 
nounced  good,  either  the  pleasurableness  of  the  mental 
state  or  the  pleasure-giving  efficiency  of  the  thing  or  act 
under  consideration  is  the  original  ground  of  the  degree  of 
esteem  in  which  it  is  held.  Afterwards  an  objective  test 
also  may  be  applied,  and  the  judgment  of  value  may  be 


404 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


modified,  as  it  is  when  a  particular  kind  of  pleasure-giving 
conduct  is  found  to  be  unfavourable  to  survival.  The 
application  of  the  objective  tests,  however,  depends  on  a 
much  higher  development  of  intelligence  than  the  applica¬ 
tion  of  the  subjective  tests.  The  individuals,  for  example, 
that  know  what  effect  a  particular  course  of  conduct 
has  on  health  and  survival  are  fewer  than  those  who 
know  what  effect  it  has  upon  the  sum  total  of  a  day’s 
pleasure.  Consequently  in  the  development  of  social  val¬ 
ues  and  in  the  determination  of  social  choice,  the  subjec¬ 
tive  grounds  are  more  efficient  than  the  objective  criteria. 
Therefore  in  the  attempt  to  discover  the  laws  of  social 
choice,  it  is  necessary  first  to  inquire  what  subjective  ele¬ 
ments  of  goodness  enter  into  social  values. 

In  the  chapter  on  The  Social  Mind  it  was  shown  that  the 
object  of  supreme  social  value  in  each  community  is  the  kind 
or  type  of  its  population ;  that,  for  example,  the  American 
supremely  values  the  American  type,  the  Englishman,  the 
English,  the  Frenchman,  the  French,  and  the  German,  the 
German  type.  It  was  shown  also  that  to  some  extent 
the  several  characteristics  of  the  type  are  separately  val¬ 
ued;  or,  in  more  precise  scientific  terms,  that  the  value 
of  the  type  is  largely  imputed  to  some  one  or  more  of 
its  characteristics. 

To  a  community  that  has  become  reflectively  intelligent, 
the  characteristics  of  its  own  type  to  which  value  is  chiefly 
imputed  are  those  qualities  of  the  population  that  are  ac¬ 
cepted  as  subjective  elements  and  criteria  of  goodness: 
in  every  community  the  ruling  criteria  of  goodness  are  de¬ 
rived  from  its  own  typical  qualities,  and  it  is  impossible 
for  any  community  to  think  that  its  own  traits  and  its 
own  conduct  do  not  in  some  measure  realize  its  conception 
of  the  ideal  good. 

When  men  begin  to  distinguish  between  their  judgments 
and  their  desires,  the  subjective  element  and  criterion  of 
goodness  that  first  wins  approval  is  power.  This  is  pri- 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


405 


marily  due  to  the  fact  that  life  itself  is  activity  and  a  mode 
of  conflict.  The  deepest  instincts  are  those  of  activity. 
It  is  secondarily  due  to  the  high  ratio  of  effort  to  reward 
in  the  early  stages  of  organic  and  social  evolution.  To 
succeed  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  an  individual  or  a 
community  must  be  strong  and  alert.  Life  is  beset  by 
dangers,  and  war  is  continual.  These  conditions  react  on 
all  the  mental  processes.  Whatever  displays  power  awes 
the  imagination  and  compels  admiration.  Whatever  is  ob¬ 
tained  only  by  means  of  power  is  coveted,  and  power  to 
obtain  is  admired  and  applauded.  Presently  mental  and 
moral  as  well  as  physical  power  win  admiration ;  fortitude 
and  self-control  are  approved  as  courage  is.  From  these 
qualities  the  conception  of  virtue  is  derived.  Virtue  is 
manly  power  in  all  its  myriad  forms  of  action  and  repres¬ 
sion,  of  daring  and  of  self-control.  Virtue,  then,  in  this 
original  meaning  of  the  word,  is  the  first  subjective  element 
of  goodness,  to  receive  recognition,  and  the  first  subjective 
criterion  of  conduct  and  character.  In  the  development 
of  ethical  philosophy  this  phase  of  thought  finds  expression 
in  Stoicism. 

Presently,  however,  it  is  discovered  that  virtue  does 
not  always  have  pleasurable  reactions.  Forceful  conduct 
may  be  pleasurable  at  the  moment,  but  it  may  exhaust. 
Courage  may  be  rash ;  self-control  may  be  excessive  and 
stupid.  These  considerations  can  have  no  practical  results 
as  long  as  the  life-struggle  is  hard  and  perilous.  Gradually, 
however,  the  conditions  of  existence  are  ameliorated.  The 
consolidation  of  tribes  and  states  is  followed  by  long  periods 
of  peace  and  security,  and  an  improving  economic  produc¬ 
tion  increases  the  ratio  of  reward  to  effort.1  Is  virtue, 

1  Professor  Patten’s  account  of  this  stage  of  evolution  as  a  transition 
from  a  pain  economy  to  a  pleasure  economy  is  compact  of  original  and 
suggestive  thought  which,  I  sincerely  hope,  may  be  the  beginning  of  a 
transition  from  the  platitudinous  ethical  discussions  of  recent  years  to  a 
hard-headed,  scientific  study  of  ethical  phenomena.  I  regret  to  say,  how¬ 
ever,  that  I  am  unable  to  regard  Professor  Patten’s  terms  as  accurately 


406 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


men  then  begin  to  ask,  the  only  good,  —  the  only  criterion 
that  should  be  applied  ?  Should  not  the  reactions  of  con¬ 
duct  be  considered  ?  Is  it  rational  to  suppose  that  pain 
is  the  normal  result  of  effort  ?  Is  it  not  rational  to  assume 
that  the  normal  result  is  pleasure?  Without  becoming 
less  virtuous,  should  not  the  virtuous  man  study  the  reac¬ 
tions  of  his  conduct,  and,  so  far  as  possible,  choose  courses 
that  promise  happiness  rather  than  misery?  The  answer 
made  is  affirmative.  Happiness  is  the  second  subjective 
element  of  good  to  be  recognized,  and  utility  becomes, 
next  after  virtue,  the  criterion  of  conduct.  In  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  ethical  philosophy,  this  phase  of  thought  finds 
expression  in  Epicureanism. 

Then  soon  it  is  perceived  that  in  the  attempt  to  make 
happiness  an  element  in  the  ideal  good,  and  utility  a  cri¬ 
terion  of  conduct,  men  exaggerate  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment.  They  sacrifice  a  future  pleasure  to  an  inferior 
pleasure  of  the  hour ;  they  commit  excess.  By  such  prac¬ 
tical  errors  they  impair  virtue  and  disintegrate  character. 
It  is  seen  that  if  pleasure  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  element 
of  goodness,  the  pleasure  of  life  as  a  whole  must  be  con¬ 
sidered,  the  pleasure  from  the  exercise  of  each  power  must 
be  subordinated  to  a  total  pleasure.  The  total  pleasure,  in 
turn,  must  be  consistent  with  the  normal  exercise  of  each 
power.  Virtue,  as  well  as  pleasure,  must  be  considered. 
Character  as  a  whole,  as  well  as  pleasure  as  a  whole,  must 

descriptive.  That  stage  which  he  calls  a  pain  economy  is  precisely  the 
one  in  which  the  race  enjoys  most  intensely  one  kind  of  pleasure,  namely, 
the  pleasure  of  activity,  of  power ;  the  pleasure  it  fails  to  get  is  that  of 
reaction,  of  utility  (see  ante,  p.  385).  The  stage  that  he  calls  a  pleasure 
economy  is  one  in  which  the  delights  of  spontaneous  activity  are  greatly 
curtailed  by  various  restrictions  and  by  the  conversion  of  an  exciting 
military  life  into  prosaic  industry,  but  in  which  utilities,  the  pleasures  of 
reaction,  are  greatly  increased.  The  two  stages,  therefore,  are  respectively 
an  effort  economy  and  a  reward  economy.  I  suspect  that  Professor  Pat¬ 
ten’s  wrong  choice  of  terms  is  in  part  attributable  to  his  mistaken  assump¬ 
tion  that  social  relations  originated  among  conquered  creatures  that  were 
driven  by  strong  enemies  into  poor  environments. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


407 


be  respected.  And,  since  man  is  social  and  is  dependent 
on  his  fellows  for  a  large  part  of  his  pleasure,  the  pleasure 
of  each  individual  must  be  such  as  is  consistent  with  the 
pleasure  of  many  individuals,  and,  in  the  ideal,  with 
the  pleasure  of  all.  In  short,  the  wholeness  of  pleasure, 
the  wholeness  of  character,  the  wholeness  of  power,  must 
be  considered.  Integrity,1  therefore,  is  the  third  subjec¬ 
tive  element  of  the  ideal  good  to  receive  recognition,  and 
the  third  criterion  of  character.  In  the  development  of 
ethical  philosophy,  this  phase  of  thought  finds  expression 
in  Puritanism. 

Even  integrity,  however,  may  be  narrow.  The  organi¬ 
zation  of  virtues  and  utilities  in  conduct  and  character 
may  be  regarded  as  final.  Against  finality,  soul  and 
reason  rebel.  They  seek  expansion  of  life.  The  mind 
will  not  be  satisfied  in  its  quest  of  truth  until  it  compre¬ 
hends  the  world.  The  soul  will  not  cease  to  extend  its 
sympathies  until  sympathy  includes  all  men  in  the  fellow¬ 
ship  of  good-will.  The  active  powers  of  our  nature  chafe 
until  they  can  expend  themselves  in  any  channel ;  until 
they  can  essay  any  achievement.  Self-realization,  there¬ 
fore,  is  the  fourth  and  final  subjective  element  of  goodness 
to  receive  recognition,  and  the  final  criterion  of  the  con¬ 
duct  of  life.  In  the  development  of  ethical  philosophy, 
this  phase  of  thought  finds  expression  in  a  humanistic 
idealism. 

Thus  the  ideal  good  is  seen  to  be  a  composite  thing. 
It  is  not  virtue  only,  or  pleasure  only,  not  integrity  only, 
or  self-realization  only;  it  is  the  synthesis  of  all  these 
things.  The  ideal  good  is  the  rational  happiness  that  is 
compounded  of  virtue  and  pleasure,  of  integrity  and  the 
continuing  expansion  of  life. 

In  these  principles  the  first  law  of  social  choice  is  dis¬ 
covered. 

A  community  continually  endeavours  to  perfect  its  type 
1  In  the  etymological  sense  of  the  word. 


408 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  conception  of  an  ideal 
good.  This  conception  varies  from  time  to  time,  with  the 
evolution  or  the  disintegration  of  society,  and  with  changes 
in  the  composition  of  the  population.  In  every  commu¬ 
nity  that  has  yet  existed  in  this  world  the  imperfectly 
developed  minds  are  a  majority;  the  highly  developed 
minds  are  a  small  minority.  A  majority  of  minds  there¬ 
fore  are  dominated  by  the  earlier  and  lower  ideals.  Never¬ 
theless,  as  social  evolution  continues,  the  proportion  of 
highly  developed  minds  that  accept  the  highest  ideals 
increases.  Consequently  the  first  law  of  social  choice  may 
be  stated  as  follows : 

In  all  social  choice  the  most  influential  ideal  is  that  of 
personal  force,  or  of  virtue  in  the  original  sense  ;  the  sec¬ 
ond  in  influence  is  the  hedonistic  or  utilitarian  ideal ;  the 
third  is  integrity ;  the  least  influential  is  the  ideal  of  self- 
realization  ;  but  if  mental  and  moral  evolution  continues, 
the  higher  ideals  must  become  increasingly  influential. 

The  inductive  verification  of  this  law  is  found  in  the 
most  familiar  facts  of  practical  politics  and  legislation. 
The  forceful  man  is  always  the  popular  idol,  and  it 
makes  strangely  little  difference  to  the  admiring  multi¬ 
tude  whether  his  force  is  the  physical  prowess  of  the  prize¬ 
fighter,  or  the  moral  courage  of  a  reformer.  The  crowd 
will  always  sacrifice  utility  and  integrity  to  exult  in  a  dis¬ 
play  of  power.  The  politician  whose  economic  blunders 
and  whose  indifference  to  honesty  are  known  to  all  can 
keep  his  hold  on  the  popular  suffrage  if  he  is  forceful  as 
a  personality ;  or  the  advocate  of  a  just  and  wise  policy 
that  is  at  first  unpopular  can  usually  carry  it  through  if 
he  is  a  man  of  brilliant  daring  or  of  dogged  resolution. 

Next  to  the  popular  hero-worship  the  practical  politician 
and  legislator  always  respects  the  popular  pleasures  and 
economies.  He  knows  that  he  must  have  a  remarkably 
good  cause  and  a  doughty  champion  before  he  can  venture 
with  hope  of  success  upon  any  policy,  however  wise  and 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


409 


right  it  may  be  when  judged  by  the  highest  ideal  stand¬ 
ards,  if  it  interferes  with  any  popular  enjoyment,  or  affects 
business  or  property. 

This  first  law  of  social  choice  is  the  law  of  preferences 
among  ends  to  be  achieved.  The  remaining  laws  are  laws 
of  combination  and  of  the  choice  of  means. 

In  making  subjective  valuations  for  practical  purposes  we 
cannot  estimate  each  element  and  each  means  of  goodness 
by  itself  alone ;  we  can  do  that  only  in  theory,  —  for  the 
sake  of  analysis.  In  real  life  we  have  to  ask  how  each 
element  of  goodness  will  combine  with  others  to  make  up 
an  integral  ideal  good.  In  choosing  our  pleasures,  for  ex¬ 
ample,  we  have  to  modify  some  indulgences  so  that  they 
will  combine  well  with  others,  or,  failing  to  do  that,  we 
have  to  sacrifice  some  pleasures  altogether.  As  a  rule, 
many  moderate  pleasures  that  combine  well,  each  height¬ 
ening  the  others,  will  make  up  a  larger  total  of  satisfaction 
than  a  few  pleasures,  each  of  which  is  intense.  It  is 
necessary,  therefore,  to  correct  each  subjective  value,  as 
individually  considered,  by  reference  to  its  probable  rela¬ 
tion  to  other  values. 

Again,  in  subjective  valuations  immediate  good  is  not 
necessarily  the  only  element  considered.  Further  correc¬ 
tions  may  be  made  for  the  future  good  and  ill  that  must 
result  from  the  choice  contemplated,  including  reactions 
on  the  personality,  the  self-development,  and  the  self-activ¬ 
ity  of  the  chooser. 

As  soon  as  the  individual  has  acquired  the  intellectual 
power  to  make  such  corrections,  he  attempts  to  bring  his 
subjective  values  into  a  consistent  whole;  but  the  com¬ 
position  of  the  whole,  and  his  success  in  making  it  har¬ 
monious  throughout,  depends  very  much  upon  his  own 
experiences.  If  his  experiences  have  been  of  few  kinds 
and  each  has  been  often  repeated,  his  consciousness  has 
become  identified  with  a  total  of  subjective,  values  that  is 


410 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


thoroughly  consistent,  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  that  is  very 
simple  in  its  make-up.  His  few  pleasures,  for  example, 
are  relatively  intense,  and  he  pursues  each  further  than 
he  would  if  they  were  varied. 

Suppose,  now,  that  some  new  element  or  new  mode  of 
good  is  introduced  into  his  life,  for  example,  a  new  pleas¬ 
ure  more  intense  than  any  that  he  has  hitherto  enjoyed, 
or  that  suddenly  he  sees  opened  to  him  possibilities  of  many 
new  modes  of  good  which,  however,  are  more  or  less  in¬ 
compatible  with  those  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed. 
His  group  of  subjective  values  becomes  at  once  larger 
and  more  complex  than  it  was  before,  but  also  less  well- 
organized.  A  long  time  will  elapse  before  the  readjusts 
ment  is  made.  It  will  involve  many  sacrifices  and 
self-denials.  Meanwhile,  the  chances  are  that  he  will 
choose  crudely  and  in  a  radical  fashion.  He  will  substi¬ 
tute  oftener  than  he  will  combine.  He  will  destrov  when 
he  might  conserve.  He  will  go  wholly  over  to  the  new 
way  of  life,  enjoying  as  before  a  few  modes  of  experience 
intensely  instead  of  learning  that  he  might  get  a  greater 
total  of  satisfaction  from  a  large  number  of  less  intense 
experiences  harmoniously  put  together.1 

Let  these  principles  now  be  applied  to  a  population.  It 
is  usual  to  speak  of  the  elements,  modes,  and  means  of  good 
collectively  as  interests.  A  population  map  of  a  country 
may  be  made,  showing  the  distribution  of  the  people 
according  to  their  interests.  In  one  region  will  be  discov¬ 
ered  a  marked  predominance  of  those  who  have  lived  for 
generations  in  a  circumscribed  way,  —  the  people  of  narrow 
experiences  and  of  few  interests.  In  another  region  will 

1  For  the  most  complete  discussion  of  the  utilitarian  aspect  of  these 
principles,  the  reader  should  consult  the  writings  of  Professor  Patten  ; 
especially  “  The  Consumption  of  Wealth,”  “  The  Theory  of  Dynamic  Eco¬ 
nomics,”  and  “  The  Economic  Causes  of  Moral  Progress,”  Annals  of  the 
American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science ,  Vol.  III.,  No.  2,  Sep¬ 
tember,  1892. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


411 


be  discovered  large  numbers  of  those  who  have  suddenly 
found  themselves  face  to  face  with  possibilities  of  which 
they  had  not  dreamed.  Elsewhere  will  be  discovered  those 
who  have  so  long  enjoyed  varied  experiences  and  have 
cultivated  manifold  interests  that  their  subjective  values 
make  up  totals  which  are  highly  complex  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  harmonious.  Can  predictions  be  made  as  to 
how  the  people  of  these  different  regions  will  choose,  select, 
or  decide  in  their  industry,  their  law-making,  their  educa¬ 
tional  and  religious  undertakings,  and  their  organization 
of  institutions  ?  Beyond  any  doubt,  prediction  is  possible, 
and  the  law  of  the  social  choice  of  combinations  and  of 
means  can  be  formulated  as  follows : 

A  population  that  has  but  a  few  interests,  which  how¬ 
ever  are  harmoniously  combined,  will  be  conservative  in 
its  choices.  A  population  that  has  varied  interests  which 
are  as  yet  inharmoniously  combined  will  be  radical  in  its 
choices.  Only  the  population  that  has  many,  varied,  and 
harmoniously  combined  interests  will  be  consistently  pro¬ 
gressive  in  its  choices. 

Abundant  verifications  of  this  law  are  found  in  politics, 
legislation,  religion,  and  custom.  The  northern  common¬ 
wealths  of  the  United  States  have  a  more  diversified  industry 
and  social  life  and  a  more  harmonious  combination  of  old  and 
new  interests  than  the  commonwealths  of  the  South.  In 
accordance  with  these  differences,  progress  in  the  North  is 
more  uniform  than  in  the  South.  The  South  is  in  general 
more  conservative  in  its  social  traditions,  its  customs,  its  re¬ 
ligious  beliefs,  and  its  legislation  than  the  North.  When, 
however,  it  is  compelled  to  depart  from  the  old  ways  or  to 
make  a  place  for  new  interests,  it  proceeds  in  a  radical 
fashion  unknown  in  the  North.  Tillmanism  in  South 
Carolina  is  a  sufficient  illustration  of  my  meaning.  As 
between  the  eastern  and  western  states  of  the  North,  prog¬ 
ress  is  much  less  uniform  in  the  West  than  in  the  East. 
The  West,  with  its  imperfect  combination  of  old  and  new 


412 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


interests,  is  a  land  of  radical  experiments  in  legislation  and 
of  violent  reactions. 

Perhaps  the  best  of  all  exemplifications  of  the  law  is  the 
distribution  of  political  majorities  in  France.  The  strong¬ 
holds  of  conservatism  are  in  Brittany  and  in  the  depart¬ 
ments  north  of  the  Pyrenees.  The  centres  of  radicalism 
are  in  the  interior,  where  mining  and  manufacturing  in¬ 
dustries  have  sprung  up  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  ancient  pas¬ 
toral  and  agricultural  occupations,  and  have  brought  new 
elements  and  conflicts  into  the  population.  Moderate 
republicanism  is  found  chiefly  in  the  departments  of  the 
Rhine  and  of  the  southeast,  where  for  centuries  social  and 
intellectual  life  has  been  diversified  by  the  intermingling 
of  nationalities  and  by  the  interchange  of  ideas  between 
nations. 

If  such  are  the  laws  of  social  choice,  what  determines 
the  persistence  of  choices?  The  present  social  arrange¬ 
ments  are  survivals.  Thousands  of  different  arrangements 
have  disappeared  because  their  usefulness  to  man  was 
transient  or  slight.  They  did  not  profit  the  tribes  or 
peoples  that  used  them  sufficiently  to  save  either  peoples 
or  institutions  from  extinction.  The  social  arrangements 
that  live  as  a  part  of  the  life  of  virile  communities  are 
arrangements  that  make  communities  virile.  Directly  or 
indirectly  they  help  to  make  a  better  social  man,  keener 
in  mind  and  more  adept  in  cooperation.  But  among  all 
possible  social  choices  in  law  and  institution-making,  which 
will  bring  these  results  ?  What  choices,  merely  as  choices, 
will  natural  selection  prefer  ? 

The  answer  that  sociology  gives  is  very  certain.  The 
law  is  unmistakable.  Those  subjective  values  will  survive 
which  are  component  parts  in  a  total,  or  whole,  of  subjec¬ 
tive  values  that  is  becoming  ever  more  complex  through 
the  inclusion  of  new  interests,  and,  at  the  same  time,  more 
thoroughly  harmonious  and  coherent. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE. 


413 


This  law  does  not  express  a  psychical  process,  as  does 
the  law  of  social  choices.  It  formulates  objective,  physical 
conditions  to  which  choice  must  in  the  long  run  conform. 
When  once  the  conditions  are  clearly  perceived,  the  law 
becomes  entirely  comprehensible. 

Society,  like  the  individual,  must  adjust  itself  to  a 
physical  and  organic  environment.  Its  pleasures,  laws, 
and  institutions  must  be  a  part  of  the  adjustment,  and 
consistent  with  it  as  a  whole.  The  environment,  however, 
is  no  constant  or  unchanging  group  of  relations.  It  is 
undergoing  ceaseless  evolution,  though  the  changes  are 
often  too  slow  to  be  perceptible  at  the  moment.  It  is  be¬ 
coming  more  and  more  diversified  through  differentiation. 
Society  may  increase  the  diversification,  but  cannot  prevent 
it. 1  It  cannot  make  the  conditions  to  which  life  must  adapt 
itself  more  simple.  On  the  contrary,  life  itself  must  become 
more  complex  by  adaptation  to  more  complex  conditions,  or 
it  must  cease.  This,  then,  is  the  reason  why  tastes  must  be¬ 
come  more  varied.  It  is  the  reason  why  pleasures  must  be 
many,  and  must  contribute  to  one  another,  each  heighten¬ 
ing,  softening,  or  colouring  the  others,  until  all  are  like 
musical  notes  in  accord.  It  is  the  reason,  further,  why  our 
principal  and  familiar  enjoyments  must  not  be  so  intense, 
individually,  as  to  exclude  those  weaker,  rarer,  and  more  re¬ 
fined  pleasures  that  are  necessary  constituents  in  a  perfect 
whole  of  maximum  satisfaction.  A  species  or  a  com- 

1  One  phase  of  this  ceaseless  differentiation  of  the  environment  is  strik¬ 
ingly  shown  by  Leslie  Stephen,  “  Ethics  and  the  Struggle  for  Existence,” 
Contemporary  Review,  Vol.  LXIV.,  No.  2,  August,  1893,  in  his  searching 
criticism  of  Huxley’s  contention  in  the  famous  Romanes  lecture  that  ethi¬ 
cal  progress  consists  in  successfully  “combating”  the  cosmic  process. 
Natural  selection  implies  not  only  an  equilibration  of  physical  and  vital 
energies,  but  also  a  moving  equilibrium  among  species  and  varieties  in 
their  relations  to  each  other.  The  survival  of  the  fittest  has  never  involved 
the  general  extinction  of  the  weaker  species.  If  it  had,  the  stronger  spe¬ 
cies  also,  which  are  in  many  ways  dependent  on  the  weaker,  would  have 
perished.  Therefore  species  have  multiplied  and  differentiated,  and  the 
organic  environment  of  each  species  has  become  more  and  more  diversified. 


414 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


munity  that  has  varied  tastes  will  obtain  more  and  better 
food  and  will  have  a  more  varied  experience  than  one  that 
has  but  few  tastes.  A  community  or  a  class  that  delights 
in  many  harmonious  pleasures  has,  on  the  whole,  more 
chances  in  life  than  one  which  is  satisfied  with  a  few  in¬ 
tense  pleasures.  And  finally,  only  those  habits,  customs, 
and  institutions  that  fit  into  nature’s  scheme  of  diversifica¬ 
tion  will  endure.1  Therefore  it  is  in  the  physical  nature 
of  things  that  ultra-conservative  and  ultra-radical  social 
choices  must  in  the  long  run  be  terminated,  and  that  only 
the  moderately  but  constantly  progressive  choices  can 
continue. 

In  short,  while  artificial  selection,  or  social  choice,  is 
governed  by  subjective  value,  survival  is  governed  by 
organic  and  subjective  utility.2  This  very  important  truth 
is  one  reason  for  observing  the  distinction3  between  sub¬ 
jective  utility  and  subjective  value. 

In  illustration  and  verification  of  the  law  of  survival,  I 
will  recall  the  later  steps  in  the  evolution  of  the  family. 
These  show  how  inexorably  the  form  of  the  family  is  de¬ 
termined  at  each  step  by  the  necessity  of  adaptation  to 
complicating  conditions,  and  they  also  show  why  only  the 
ethical  family  will  survive. 

The  religious-proprietary  family  was,  among  other  things, 
the  social  organ  of  worship  and  of  property.  New  forms 
of  religion,  new  organs  for  the  accumulation  of  capital,  and 
the  passion  for  personal  liberty  made  necessary  a  change 
in  the  family  system.  The  religious-proprietary  family,  as 
such,  came  to  an  end. 

Two  possibilities  were  offered  in  its  stead.  One  was  an 
irregular  union  of  the  sexes.  If  the  irregular  union  was 

1  Professor  Patten’s  “Theory  of  Social  Forces”  is  the  most  thorough 
study  of  the  conditions  of  survival  and  progress  that  has  yet  been  made, 
but  it  errs,  as  I  think,  in  representing  the  natural  environment  as  “  static.” 

2  By  organic  utility  I  mean  that  well-being  of  the  organism  which  is  the 
physical  basis  of  subjective  utility. 

3  Ante,  p.  44. 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


415 


childless,  the  genealogical  line  of  the  men  and  women  who 
preferred  such  relations  to  legal  marriage  came  to  an  end. 
If  there  were  children,  they  as  a  rule  received  either  no 
care  and  perished,  or  received  public  care  which  was  so 
inadequate  that  many  of  them  perished.  Therefore  the 
irregular  union  tended  to  extinction  and  left  the  perpetua¬ 
tion  of  the  race  mainly  to  those  who  believed  in  legal 
marriage  and  who  taught  their  principles  to  their  chil¬ 
dren.  The  possibility  for  these  was  the  romantic  family. 
Although  based  on  preference  and  contract,  this  form  of 
the  family  was  relatively  stable  as  long  as  women  were  eco¬ 
nomically  dependent  and  divorce  was  difficult.  Changing 
industrial  conditions,  however,  and  a  more  complex  social 
life  presently  brought  about  a  large  measure  of  economic 
independence  for  women,  and  easy  divorce.  The  romantic 
family  became  unstable. 

This  time  three  possibilities  were  offered,  and  all  have 
been  tried.  Irregular  unions  have  again  been  formed, 
but,  as  before,  they  have  necessarily  tended  to  extinction. 
Legal  union  terminating  in  divorce  has  been  tried,  but  this 
form  also  tends  to  extinction.  It  is  more  likely  than  the 
stable  marriage  to  be  childless,  or,  if  children  are  born,  they 
are  likely  either  to  inherit  unstable  characters  from  their 
unstable  parents  or  to  grow  up  without  discipline  ;  and, 
in  their  maturity,  they  are  more  likely  than  the  offspring 
of  stable  marriages  to  contract  irregular  unions  instead  of 
stable  marriages  and  so  to  bring  their  genealogical  line  to 
an  end.  The  third  possibility  is  the  stable  marriage  of  affec¬ 
tion  and  duty,  of  which  two  forms  are  offered.  If  the  rela¬ 
tion  is  entered  upon  for  the  personal  benefit  of  the  husband 
and  wife  only,  there  may  be  no  children  and  this  family,  like 
its  predecessors,  becomes  extinct.  If,  however,  the  family 
is  established  with  the  purpose  and  in  the  expectation  of 
transmitting  to  children  and  to  a  distant  posterity  a  sound 
physical  heredity  and  the  mental  and  moral  results  of  civil¬ 
ization,  it  must  survive.  For  the  children  of  families  of 


416 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


this  type  will  usually  have  the  qualities  that  will  enable 
them  both  to  hold  their  own  in  the  struggle  for  existence, 
and  to  perpetuate  the  social  forms  which  are  their  heritage. 

Are  we  then  to  conclude  that,  in  the  last  analysis,  social 
causation  is  an  objective  or  physical  process,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  the  important  part  that  has  been  assigned  to  volition  ? 
If  the  question  is  the  metaphysical  inquiry  whether  mind  is 
merely  a  manifestation  of  matter,  the  sociologist  as  such  has 
no  opinion  to  offer.  As  a  sociologist  he  is  not  concerned 
with  that  troublesome  puzzle.  If,  however,  it  is  the  ques¬ 
tion  whether  the  volitional  process  in  society  is  conditioned 
by  the  physical,  and  is  in  no  way  independent,  or  underived, 
the  sociologist  must  make  an  affirmative  reply. 

The  part  played  by  the  volitional  factors  in  social  evolu¬ 
tion  is  so  conspicuous  that  a  student  who  approaches  the 
problem  from  one  side  only  can  easily  fall  into  the  habit  of 
thinking  of  them  as  underived,  independent  causes,  and  out 
of  this  unscientific  habit  many  misconceptions  have  grown. 
The  sociologist  deals  with  phenomena  of  volition  at  every 
step.  In  fact,  as  we  have  seen,  they  are  central  points, 
about  which  all  the  other  phases  of  social  change  are 
grouped.  More  than  this ;  the  sociologist  deals  not  only 
with  causes  that  are  not  merely  physical,  but  also  with 
many  that  are  not  merely  psychical.  They  are  as  much 
more  complex  than  the  merely  psychical  as  the  psychical  are 
more  complex  than  the  merely  physical.  They  are  socio¬ 
logical — products  of  social  evolution  itself — and  the  true 
sociologist  wastes  no  time  on  attempts  to  explain  all  that  is 
human  by  environment  apart  from  history. 

The  real  question,  therefore,  is  not  on  the  existence  or 
the  importance  of  volitional  and  of  distinctively  sociologi¬ 
cal  causes.  It  is  whether  these  are  underived  from  simpler 
phenomena  than  themselves,  and  are  undetermined  by  proc¬ 
esses  of  the  physical  and  organic  world.  To  this  question 
the  answer  of  sociology  is  an  unqualified  negative.  Soci* 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


417 


ology  is  a  product  of  those  new  conceptions  of  nature  — 
natural  causation  and  natural  law  —  that  have  grown  up 
in  scientific  minds  in  connection  with  doctrines  of  evolu¬ 
tion  and  the  conservation  of  energy.1  These  conceptions, 
as  the  working  hypotheses  of  physical  and  organic  science, 
are  totally  unlike  those  old  metempirical  notions  that  made 
natural  law  an  entity,  endowed  it  with  omnipotence,  and 
set  it  up  in  a  world  of  men  and  things  to  govern  them. 
Natural  laws  are  simply  unchanging  relations  among 
forces,  he  they  physical,  psychical,  or  social.  A  natural 
cause  is  simply  one  that  is  at  the  same  time  an  effect.  In 
the  universe  as  known  to  science  there  are  no  independent, 
unrelated,  uncaused  causes.  By  natural  causation,  there¬ 
fore,  the  scientific  man  means  a  process  in  which  every 
cause  is  itself  an  effect  of  antecedent  causes;  in  which 
every  action  is  at  the  same  time  a  reaction.  Nature  is 
hut  the  totality  of  related  things,  in  which  every  change 
has  been  caused  by  antecedent  change  and  will  itself  cause 
subsequent  change,  and  in  which,  among  all  changes,  there 
are  relations  of  coexistence  and  sequence  that  are  them¬ 
selves  unchanging. 

In  this  mighty  but  exquisite  system  man  is  indeed  a 
variable,  but  not  an  independent  variable.  He  is  a  func¬ 
tion  of  innumerable  variables.  In  a  world  of  endless 
change  he  acts  upon  that  world,  but  only  because  he  is  of 
that  world.  His  volition  is  a  true  cause,  but  only  because  it 
is  a  true  effect.  Therefore,  while  affirming  the  reality  of 
sociological  forces  that  are  distinctly  different  from  merely 
biological  and  from  merely  physical  forces,  the  sociologist 
is  careful  to  add  that  they  are  different  only  as  products 
are  different  from  factors,  only  as  protoplasm  is  different 
from  certain  quantities  of  oxygen,  hydrogen,  nitrogen,  and 
carbon;  only  as  an  organism  and  its  coordinated  activities 

1  Conceptions  not  all  found  even  in  so  recent  a  work  as  Mill’s  “  Logic,” 
but  set  forth  clearly  by  Lewes  in  “Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,”  First 
Series. 


2b 


418 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


are  different  from  a  group  of  nucleated  cells  having  activi¬ 
ties  that  are  unrelated.  Perceiving  that  society  is  an  or¬ 
ganization  that  acts  in  definite  ways  upon  its  members, 
he  looks  beyond  the  superficial  aspect  and  finds  that  all 
social  action  is  in  fact  a  reaction,  and,  as  such,  is  definitely 
limited  and  conditioned.  He  finds  nowhere  a  social  force 
that  has  not  been  evolved  in  a  physical-organic  process,  or 
one  that  is  not  at  every  moment  conditioned  by  physi¬ 
cal  facts.  He  sees  in  constant  operation  that  marvellous 
product  of  individual  wills,  the  collective  or  group  will, 
in  which  Austin  found  the  source  of  political  sovereignty ; 
but  he  sees  also,  what  no  jurist  before  Darwin’s  day  could 
have  seen,  how  inexorably  the  sovereign  will  is  conditioned 
by  natural  selection.  The  group,  like  the  individual,  can 
will,  but  what  it  wills  is  determined  by  conditions  that  man 
did  not  create,  and  whether  the  group  continues  to  will 
this  or  that  depends  on  whether  the  thing  willed  conduces 
to  social  survival. 

It  is  in  this  truth  that  the  sociologist  discerns  the  essen¬ 
tial  significance  of  the  much-befogged  doctrine  of  natural 
rights.  Natural  rights,  as  the  term  was  once  understood, 
have  gone  to  the  limbo  of  outworn  creeds ;  not  so  those 
natural  norms  of  positive  right  that  sociology  is  just  begin¬ 
ning  to  disclose.  Legal  rights  are  rights  sanctioned  by 
the  law-making  power;  moral  rights  are  rules  of  right 
sanctioned  by  the  conscience  of  the  community;  natural 
rights  are  socially  necessary  norms  of  right,  enforced  by 
natural  selection  in  the  sphere  of  social  relations ;  and  in 
i  the  long  run  there  can  be  neither  legal  nor  moral  rights 
that  are  not  grounded  in  natural  rights  as  thus  defined. 

I  am  not  trying  here  to  rehabilitate  an  old  idea  in  a  new 
phraseology.  I  reject  the  old  idea,  and  with  it  that  use 
of  the  word  “natural,”  imposed  on  political  philosophy 
by  Rousseau,  which  identifies  the  “  natural  ”  exclusively 
with  the  “  primitive.”  This  use  is  now  banished  from  biol¬ 
ogy  and  psychology,  but  it  is  inexcusably  retained  in  the 


SOCIAL  LAW  AND  CAUSE 


419 


political  sciences  by  many  economists  and  jurists,  as  if 
“  natural  ”  were  a  word  of  no  broader  meaning  than  “natal.” 
In  scientific  nomenclature  “  natural”  has  become  much  more 
nearly  identical  with  “  normal.”  In  its  absolute  scientific 
sense  the  natural  is  that  which  exists  in  virtue  of  its  part 
in  a  cosmic  system  of  mutually  determining  activities; 
hence,  in  a  relative  and  narrower  sense  it  is  that  which 
is,  on  the  whole,  in  harmony  with  the  conditions  of  its  ex¬ 
istence.  The  unnatural  is  on  the  way  to  dissolution  or 
extinction. 

If  the  social  will  is  conditioned  by  natural  selection,  not 
less  is  the  power  to  convert  will  into  deed  conditioned  by 
the  conservation  of  energy.  Enormous  as  is  the  social 
energy,  it  is  always  a  definite  quantity.  Every  unit  of  it 
has  been  taken  up  from  the  physical  environment,  and  no 
changes  of  form  can  increase  the  amount.  What  is  used 
in  one  way  is  absolutely  withdrawn  from  other  modes  of 
expenditure.  If  the  available  energy  of  the  environment 
is  wasted  or  in  any  way  diminished,  the  social  activity  also 
must  diminish.  The  evolution  of  new  relationships  of 
conscious  association,  and  the  accompanying  development 
of  personality,  will  be  checked. 

Thus  the  definition  of  sociology,  as  an  explanation  of 
social  phenomena  in  terms  of  natural  causation,  becomes 
somewhat  more  explicit.  Specifically,  sociology  is  an 
interpretation  of  social  phenomena  in  terms  of  psychical 
activity,  organic  adjustment,  natural  selection,  and  the 
conservation  of  energy.  As  such,  it  may  be  less  than  a 
demonstrative  science,  if  the  experimental  sciences  be 
taken  as  the  standard ;  but  we  cannot  admit  that  it  is  only 
a  descriptive  science,  as  is  contended  by  those  French 
sociologists  who  hold  closely  to  the  philosophy  of  Comte.1 
It  is  strictly  an  explanatory  science,  fortifying  induction 
by  deduction,  and  referring  effects  to  veritable  causes. 

1  See  especially  M.  de  Roberty,  “La  sociologie,”  Chap.  II. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  NATURE  AND  END  OF  SOCIETY 

The  final  question  remains.  What  is  the  nature  of  this 
concrete  group  of  phenomena  that  we  have  been  studying  ? 
To  what  class  of  natural  objects  does  it  belong  ?  Is  it,  as 
Mr.  Spencer  and  others  have  said,  an  organism  ? 

Certainly  it  is  not  a  physical  organism.  Its  parts,  if 
parts  it  has,  are  psychical  relations.  They  are  held  to¬ 
gether  not  by  material  bonds,  but  by  comprehension,  sym¬ 
pathy,  and  interest.  If  society  is  an  organism  at  all,  it 
must  be  described  as  physio-psychic  —  as  a  psychical  or¬ 
ganism  essentially,  but  with  a  physical  basis.  The  reader 
who  has  followed  these  pages  thus  far,  however,  will  be 
disposed  to  agree,  I  think,  that  a  society  is  more  than  an 
organism  —  that  it  is  something  as  much  higher  and  more 
complex  than  an  organism  as  an  organism  is  higher  and 
more  complex  than  inorganic  matter.  A  society  is  an 
organization ,  partly  a  product  of  unconscious  evolution, 
partly  a  result  of  conscious  planning.  An  organization  is 
a  complex  of  psychical  relations.  Like  an  organism,  how¬ 
ever,  it  may  exhibit  every  phase  of  evolution  —  of  differ¬ 
entiation  with  increasing  cohesion  or  unity. 

Like  an  organism,  too,  an  organization  may  have  a  func¬ 
tion.  The  function  of  society  is  to  develop  conscious  life 
and  to  create  human  personality;  to  that  end  it  now  exists. 
It  is  conscious  association  with  his  fellows  that  develops 
man’s  moral  nature.  To  the  exchange  of  thought  and 
feeling  all  literature  and  philosophy,  all  religious  con- 

420 


THE  NATURE  AND  END  OF  SOCIETY 


421 


sciousness  and  public  polity,  are  due,  and  it  is  the  reaction 
of  literature  and  philosophy,  of  worship  and  polity,  on  the 
mind  of  each  new  generation  that  develops  its  type  of  per¬ 
sonality.  Accordingly,  we  may  say  that  the  function  of 
social  organization,  which  the  sociologist  must  always 
keep  in  view,  is  the  evolution  of  personality  through  ever 
higher  stages  until  it  attains  to  the  ideal  that  we  name 
humanity. 

Therefore,  at  every  step  the  sociological  task  is  the 
double  one,  —  to  know  how  social  relations  are  evolved, 
and  how  they  react  on  the  development  of  personality.1 
In  other  words,  one  object  of  sociology  is  to  learn  all  that 
can  be  learned  about  the  creation  of  the  social  man.  The 
bearing  of  this  learning  upon  the  studies  of  the  economist 
and  the  political  theorist  will  be  understood  by  all  who 
have  followed  the  recent  progress  of  political  philosophy. 
The  “  economic  man  ”  of  the  Ricardians  still  lives  and  has 
his  useful  work  to  do ;  notwithstanding  our  scientific 
Iagos,  who  aver  that  they  have  looked  upon  the  world 
these  four  times  seven  years,  and  have  never  yet  “  found 
man  that  knew  how  to  love  himself.”  Not  so  the  natural 
man  of  Hobbes,  whose  singular  state,  as  described  in  the 
“  Leviathan,”  “  was  a  condition  of  war  of  every  one  against 
every  one,”  but  who  nevertheless  “  covenanted  ”  with  his 
neighbour.  That  whole  class  of  ideas,  and  all  the  theories 
built  upon  them,  in  which  man  was  lifted  out  of  his  social 
relations, —  in  which  the  individual  was  conceived  as  an 
uncompromising  egoist,  existing  before  society  and  reluc¬ 
tantly  joining  a  social  combination,  —  are  giving  way  before 
a  sounder  knowledge.  Instead  of  those  notions,  a  concep¬ 
tion  of  man  as  essentially  and  naturally  social,  as  created 
by  his  social  relationships  and  existing  as  man  only  in 

1  The  work  of  interpreting  thought,  morals,  art,  and  religion  from  the 
sociological  point  of  view  had  been  hopefully  begun  by  the  lamented  M. 
Guyau.  His  “L’Art  au  point  de  vue  sociologique ”  and  “Education  et 
hgreditS,  gtude  sociologique  ”  are  especially  suggestive. 


422 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


virtue  of  them,  will  be  the  starting-point  of  the  political 
theorizing  of  coming  years. 

A  social  being,  the  normally  organized  man  returns  to 
society  with  usury  the  gifts  wherewith  he  has  been  by 
society  endowed ;  and  this  truth  will  be  the  starting-point 
of  the  ethical  teaching  of  coming  years.  Personality  can¬ 
not  live  within  itself  to  perish  with  the  individual  life. 
It  goes  forth  into  the  everlasting  life  of  man.  And  so, 
little  by  little,  age  by  age,  society,  which  has  created  man, 
is  by  man  transformed.  Of  supreme  importance  in  this 
work  is  the  influence  of  those  few  transcendent  minds 
whose  genius  pierces  the  unknown  ;  of  those  pioneers  of 
thought  and  conduct  who  dare  to  stand  alone  in  untrod¬ 
den  ways  ;  of  those  devoted  lovers  of  their  kind  who,  often 
in  obloquy  and  pain,  reveal  the  possibilities  of  a  spiritual 
life.  It  is  chiefly  through  these  that  the  mass  of  humanity 
is  lifted  in  some  small  degree  above  the  plane  of  physical 
necessity  into  the  freer  air  of  liberty  and  light.  This  is 
the  way  of  life  that  Browning  has  so  truthfully  described: 

“  .  .  .  Already  you  include 
The  multitude ;  then  let  the  multitude 
Include  yourself ;  and  the  result  were  new : 

Themselves  before,  the  multitude  turn  you. 

This  were  to  live  and  move  and  have,  in  them, 

Your  being,  and  secure  a  diadem 

You  should  transmit  (because  no  cycle  yearns 

Beyond  itself,  but  on  itself  returns) 

When,  the  full  sphere  in  wane,  the  world  o’erlaid 
Long  since  with  you,  shall  have  in  turn  obeyed 
Some  orb  still  prouder,  some  displayer,  still 
More  potent  than  the  last,  of  human  will, 

And  some  new  king  depose  the  old.”  1 


1  “Sordello,”  Book  Y. 


A  PARTIAL  LIST  OF  THE  BOOKS  AND  ARTI¬ 
CLES  REFERRED  TO  IN  THE  TEXT 

I 

THEORETICAL  AND  GENERAL  SOCIOLOGY 

Books 

Bagehot,  Walter.  Physics  and  Politics.  London,  1872,  and  New 
York,  1876. 

Bougie,  C.  Les  sciences  sociales  en  Allemagne.  Paris,  1896. 

Comte,  Isidore  Auguste  Marie  Jean  Francis  Xavier.  Cours  de 
philosophic  positive.  6  vols.  Paris,  1830-42. 

De  Greef,  Guillaume.  Introduction  a  la  sociologie.  2  vols.  Bruxelles 
and  Paris,  1886-89. 

Durkheim,  Emile.  De  la  division  du  travail  social.  Paris,  1893. 

- Les  regies  de  la  methode  sociologique.  Paris,  1895. 

Fouillee,  Alfred.  La  science  sociale  contemporaine.  Paris,  1885. 
Gumplowicz,  Ludwig.  Der  Rassenkampf.  Innsbruck,  1883. 

- Grundriss  der  Sociologie.  Vienna,  1885. 

Le  Bon,  Gustave.  Psychologie  des  foules.  Paris,  1895. 

Lestrade,  Combes  de.  Elements  de  sociologie.  Paris,  1889. 
Letourneau,  Charles.  La  sociologie  d’apres  l’ethnographie.  Paris, 
1880  and  1892. 

Lilienfeld,  Paul  von.  Gedanken  iiber  eine  Social wissenschaft  der 
Zukunft.  2  Bde.  Mitau,  1873-75. 

Mackenzie,  John  Stuart.  An  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy. 

Glasgow,  1890,  and  New  York,  1895. 

Martineau,  Harriet.  The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte. 
2  vols.  London,  1853  and  1893. 

Novicow,  Jacques.  Les  luttes  entre  societes  humaines.  Paris,  1893. 
Roberty,  Eugene  de.  La  sociologie ;  essai  de  philosophic  sociologique. 
Paris,  1880  and  1886. 

Sales  y  Ferre,  Manuel.  Tratado  de  sociologia.  Madrid,  1894. 
Sch'affle,  Albert  Eberhard  Friedrich.  Bau  und  Leben  des  socialen 
Korpers.  4  Bde.  Tubingen,  1875-78  and  1881. 

Simmel,  G.  liber  sociale  Differenzierung.  Leipzig,  1890. 

Small,  Albion  W.,  and  Vincent,  George  E.  An  Introduction  to  the 
Study  of  Society.  New  York,  1894. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  The  Study  of  Sociology.  London  and  New  York, 
1873. 


423 


424 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Spencer,  Herbert.  Descriptive  Sociology:  A  Cyclopaedia  of  Social 
Facts ;  Representing  the  Constitution  of  Every  Type  and  Grade 
of  Human  Society,  Past  and  Present,  Stationary  and  Progres¬ 
sive  :  Classified  and  Tabulated  for  Easy  Comparison  and  Con¬ 
venient  Study  of  the  Relations  of  Social  Phenomena.  London 
and  New  York,  1874-81. 

- The  Principles  of  Sociology.  2  vols.  London,  1876-86.  New 

York,  1877-86. 

Tarde,  Gabriel.  Les  lois  de  l’imitation.  Paris,  1890  and  1895. 

- La  logique  sociale.  Paris,  1895. 

Vanni,  Icilio.  Prime  linee  di  un  programma  critico  di  sociologia. 
Perugia,  1888. 

Vincent,  George  E.  See  Small. 

Ward,  Lester  F.  Dynamic  Sociology.  2  vols.  New  York,  1883. 

- The  Psychic  Factors  of  Civilization.  Boston,  1893. 

Worms,  Rene.  Annales  de  l’institut  international  de  sociologie. 
Paris,  1895. 


Articles 

Bentley,  Arthur  Fisher.  The  Units  of  Investigation  in  the  Social 
Sciences ;  in  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and 
Social  Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  6.  May,  1895. 

Bosanquet,  Bernard.  The  Reality  of  the  General  Will ;  in  Interna¬ 
tional  Journal  of  Ethics.  Vol.  IV.,  No.  3.  April,  1893. 

Giddings,  Franklin  Henry.  The  Sociological  Character  of  Political 
Economy;  in  Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Associa¬ 
tion.  Vol.  III.,  No.  1.  March,  1888. 

- The  Province  of  Sociology;  in  Annals  of  the  American  Academy 

of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  I.,  No.  1.  July,  1890. 

- Sociology  as  a  University  Study ;  in  Political  Science  Quarterly. 

Vol.  VI.,  No.  4.  December,  1891. 

- The  Theory  of  Sociology.  Supplement  to  Annals  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  1. 
July,  1894. 

- The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Other  Scientific  Studies;  in  Journal 

of  Social  Science.  November,  1894. 

- Utility,  Economics,  and  Sociology ;  in  Annals  of  the  American 

Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  3.  No¬ 
vember,  1894. 

- The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Economics ;  in  Publications  of 

American  Economic  Association.  Vol.  X.,  No.  3.  Supplement, 
March,  1895. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


425 


Giddings,  Franklin  Henry.  Sociology  and  the  Abstract  Sciences ; 
The  Origin  of  the  Social  Feelings;  in  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  5. 
March,  1895. 

- Sociology  ;  in  Johnson’s  Universal  Cyclopaedia.  Vol.  VII.  New 

York,  1895. 

- Is  the  Term  Social  Classes  a  Scientific  Category  ?  in  The  Pro¬ 
ceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correc¬ 
tion,  at  New  Haven,  May,  1895.  Boston,  1896. 

Patten,  Simon  N.  The  Economic  Causes  of  Moral  Progress ;  in  Annals 
of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol. 
III.,  No.  2.  September,  1892. 

— —  The  Failure  of  Biologic  Sociology ;  in  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  IV.,  No.  6. 
May,  1894. 

- The  Beginning  of  Utility  ;  in  Annals  of  the  American  Academy 

of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  VI.,  No.  2.  September, 

v  1894. 

— —  The  Relations  of  Sociology  to  Economics ;  in  Publications  of  the 
American  Economic  Association.  Vol.  X.,  No.  3.  Supplement, 
March,  1895. 

- The  Theory  of  Social  Forces;  supplement  to  Annals  of  the 

American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Vol.  VII., 
No.  1.  January,  1896. 

Powers,  H.  H.  Terminology  and  the  Sociological  Conference;  in 
Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  5.  March,  1895. 

Schiattarella,  Raffaele.  Note  e  problemi  di  filosofia  contemporanea ; 
essay  on  La  riforma  del  metodo  in  sociologia.  Palermo,  1891. 

Small,  Albion  W.  The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Economics ;  in  Pub¬ 
lications  of  the  American  Economic  Association.  Vol.  X., 
No.  3.  Supplement,  March,  1895. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  The  Social  Organism ;  in  Westminster  Review. 
New  Series,  Vol.  XVII.  January,  1860. 

Van  Der  Rest,  E.  La  sociologie.  Bruxelles,  1888. 

Ward,  Lester  F.  Static  and  Dynamic  Sociology;  in  Political  Science 
Quarterly.  Vol.  X.,  No.  2.  June,  1895. 

- The  Place  of  Sociology  among  Sciences ;  in  the  American  Jour¬ 
nal  of  Sociology.  Vol.  I.,  No.  1.  July,  1895. 

Worms,  Rene.  La  sociologie  et  l’economie  politique ;  in  Revue  inter¬ 
national  de  sociologie.  Vol.  II.,  No,  6.  June,  1894. 

- La  sociologie  et  le  droit ;  in  Revue  international  de  sociologie. 

Vol.  IH.,  No.  1.  January,  1895. 


426 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Zeigler,  Oscar  Woodward.  Sociological  Notes;  in  Annals  of  the 
American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science.  Yol.  VI., 
No.  2.  September,  1895. 


n 

ZOOLOGICAL  SOCIOLOGY 
Books 

Abbott,  Charles  Conrad.  A  Naturalist’s  Wanderings  about  Home. 
New  York,  1884. 

Binet,  Alfred.  Etudes  de  psychologie  experimentale ;  essay  on  La 
vie  psychique  des  micro-organismes.  Paris,  1889.  Translated : 
The  Psychic  Life  of  Micro-organisms.  Chicago,  1889. 

Brehm,  Alfred  Edmond.  Illustriertes  Thierleben ;  Allgemeine 
Kunde  des  Thierreiches.  6  Bde.,  Hildburghausen,  1863-69; 
10  Bde.,  Leipzig,  1876-79. 

Espinas,  Alfred.  Des  societes  animales.  Paris,  1873  and  1878. 
Romanes,  George  John.  Animal  Intelligence.  London,  1882  ;  New 
York,  1883. 

Wallace,  Alfred  Russel.  The  Geographical  Distribution  of  Animals. 
London,  1876. 


Articles 

Coues,  Eliot.  Field  Notes  on  Birds  observed  in  Dakota  and  Mon¬ 
tana  along  the  Forty-ninth  Parallel  during  the  Seasons  of  1873 
and  1874 ;  in  the  Bulletin  of  the  United  States  Geological  and 
Geographical  Survey  of  Territories.  Yol.  IV.  Washington, 

1878. 

Kropotkin,  Petr  Alekseevich.  Mutual  Aid  among  Animals;  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century.  Vol.  XXVIII.,  September  and  November, 
1890. 

Leidy,  Joseph.  Fresh-water  Rhizopods  of  North  America;  in  the 
United  States  Geological  Survey.  Vol.  XII.  Washington, 

1879. 

Sennett,  George  B.  Notes  on  the  Ornithology  of  the  Lower  Rio 
Grande  of  Texas,  from  Observations  made  during  the  Season  of 
1877.  Edited  with  annotations  by  Eliot  Coues ;  in  Bulletin  of 
the  United  States  Geological  and  Geographical  Survey  of  Terri¬ 
tories.  Vol.  IV.,  No.  1.  Washington,  1878. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


427 


m 

ANTHROPOLOGICAL  SOCIOLOGY 
Books 

Anthropology,  Memoirs  of  the  International  Congress  of.  Chicago, 
1894. 

Brinton,  Daniel  G.  Races  and  Peoples.  New  York,  1890. 

- The  American  Race.  New  York,  1891. 

Cartailhac,  Emile.  Les  ages  prehistoriques  de  l’Espagne  et  du  Port¬ 
ugal.  Paris,  1886. 

Darwin,  Charles  Robert.  The  Descent  of  Man,  and  Selection  in  Rela¬ 
tion  to  Sex.  London  and  New  York,  1871. 

Dawkins,  William  Boyd.  Cave  Hunting.  London,  1874. 

- Early  Man  in  Britain  and  His  Place  in  the  Tertiary  Period. 

London,  1880. 

Dubois,  Eug.  Pithecanthropus  Erectus.  Eine  Menschenahnliche 
Uebergangsform  aus  Java.  Batavia,  1894. 

Evans,  John.  Ancient  Stone  Implements,  Weapons,  and  Ornaments 
of  Great  Britain.  London,  1872. 

Frazer,  James  G.  Totemism.  London,  1887. 

Gaudry,  Jean  Albert.  Le  dryopitheque.  Paris,  1890. 

Gerland,  Georg.  Atlas  der  Yolkerkunde.  Gotha,  1892. 

Gummere,  Francis  B.  Old  English  Ballads.  Boston,  1894. 

Haeckel,  Ernst  Heinrich.  Natiirliche  Schopfungsgeschichte.  Berlin, 
1868.  Translated :  The  Natural  History  of  Creation.  New 
York,  1876. 

Hovelacque,  Alexandre  Abel,  et  Herve,  Georges.  Precis  d’anthropol- 
ogie.  Paris,  1887. 

Lang,  Andrew.  Custom  and  Myth.  London  and  New  York,  1885. 

Lefevre,  Andre.  Les  races  et  les  langues.  Paris,  1893.  Translated : 
Races  and  Language.  New  York,  1894. 

Lubbock,  John.  Prehistoric  Times.  London,  1865  and  1869. 

- The  Origin  of  Civilization  and  the  Primitive  Condition  of  Man. 

London,  1870. 

Mason,  Otis  Tufton.  Woman’s  Share  in  Primitive  Culture.  New 
York,  1894. 

Mortillet,  Gabriel  de.  Le  Prehistorique ;  antiquite  de  l’homme. 
Paris,  1883. 

Nott,  J.  C.,  and  Gliddon,  George  R.  The  Types  of  Mankind.  Phila 
delphia,  1854. 


428 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Orgeas,  J.  La  pathologie  des  races  humaines  et  le  probleme  de  la 
colonization.  Paris,  1886. 

Payne,  Edward  John.  History  of  the  New  World  called  America. 
Oxford,  1892. 

Posnett,  Hutcheson  Macaulay.  Comparative  Literature.  London  and 
New  York,  1886. 

Prichard,  James  Cowles.  The  Natural  History  of  Man ;  with  addi¬ 
tions  by  E.  Norris.  2  vols.  London,  1842  and  1855. 

Quatrefages  de  Breau,  Jean  Louis  Armand  de.  L’espece  humaine. 
Paris,  1877.  Translated :  The  Human  Species.  London  and 
New  York,  1879. 

- Les  pygmies.  Paris,  1887.  Translated :  The  Pygmies.  New 

York,  1894. 

Romanes,  George  John.  Mental  Evolution  in  Man :  Origin  of  Human 
Faculty.  London,  1888,  and  New  York,  1889. 

Sayce,  Archibald  Henry.  The  Races  of  the  Old  Testament.  London, 
1891. 

Smith,  W.  Robertson.  Lectures  on  the  Religion  of  the  Semites. 
London  and  New  York,  1889 ;  revised  edition,  London  and  New 
York,  1894. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  Ceremonial  Institutions.  Part  IV.  of  the  Princi¬ 
ples  of  Sociology.  London  and  Edinburgh,  1879,  and  New 
York,  1880. 

Suess,  E.  Das  Antlitz  der  Erde.  Leipzig,  1885. 

Taylor,  Isaac.  Origin  of  the  Aryans.  London,  1890. 

Topinard,  Paul.  L’anthropologie.  Paris,  1876.  Translated:  Anthro* 
pology.  London,  1878. 

Tylor,  Edward  B.  Researches  into  the  Early  History  of  Mankind. 
London,  1865  and  1870. 

- Anthropology.  London,  1881,  and  New  York,  1891. 

Vignoli,  Tito.  Mito  e  scienza.  Milan,  1879.  Translated  :  Myth  and 
Science.  New  York,  1882. 

Vogt,  Carl.  Vorlesungen  iiber  den  Menschen ;  seine  Stellung  in  der 
Schopfung  und  in  der  Geschichte  der  Erde.  2  Bde.  Giessen, 
1863.  Translated :  Lectures  on  Man.  London,  1864. 

Articles 

Boas,  Franz.  The  Anthropology  of  the  North  American  Indian ;  in 
Memoirs  of  the  International  Congress  of  Anthropology.  Chi¬ 
cago,  1894. 

Broca,  Paul.  Discussion  on  Paper  by  M.  Pruner-Bey,  “  Observations 
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Collignon,  R.  Les  ages  de  la  pierre  en  Tunisie ;  in  Bulletins  de  la 
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Darmesteter,  James.  Race  and  Tradition ;  in  Selected  Essays. 
Boston,  1895. 

Donovan,  J.  The  Festal  Origin  of  Human  Speech  ;  in  Mind.  Yol. 
XVI.,  No.  3.  October,  1891. 

Flower,  William  Henry.  Address  before  Anthropological  Institute, 
January  27,  1885 ;  in  the  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Insti¬ 
tute.  Vol.  XIV.  May,  1885. 

Gooch,  William  D.  The  Stone  Age  of  South  Africa;  in  Journal  of 
the  Anthropological  Institute.  Vol.  X.  May,  1881. 

Keith,  Arthur.  Pithecanthropus  Erectus ;  a  brief  Review  of  Human 
Fossil  Remains;  in  Science  Progress.  Vol.  III.,  No.  17.  July, 
1895. 

Lubbock,  John.  Note  on  a  Stone  Implement  of  Paleolithic  Type 
found  in  Algeria;  in  the  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Insti¬ 
tute.  Vol.  X.  February,  1881. 

Lumholtz,  Carl.  Cave  Dwellers  of  the  Sierra  Madre  ;  in  Memoirs  of 
the  International  Congress  of  Anthropology.  Chicago,  1894. 

Marsh,  O.  C.  On  the  Pithecanthropus  Erectus:  Dubois,  from  Java; 
in  the  American  Journal  of  Science.  Third  Series.  Vol.  XLIX. 
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McLennan,  John  Ferguson.  The  Worship  of  Animals  and  Plants;  in 
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Owen,  Richard.  On  the  Osteology  and  Dentition  of  the  Aborigines 
of  the  Andaman  Islands  and  the  Relations  thereby  indicated  to 
Other  Races  of  Mankind.  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological 
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Renan,  Joseph  Ernest.  Le  juda'isme  comme  race  et  comme  religion. 
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Muller’s  Archiv  fur  Anatomie,  Physiologie,  und  Wissenschaft- 
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Ward,  Lester  F.  The  Relation  of  Sociology  to  Anthropology;  in 
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Woldrich,  J.  N.  Ueber  die  Palaeolithische  Zeit  Mittel-Europas  ;  in 
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Zittel,  C.  Sur  des  silex  tailles  trouves  dans  le  desert  Libyque ;  in 
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430 


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IV 

ETHNOLOGICAL  SOCIOLOGY 
Books 

Allen,  William,  and  Thompson,  T.  R.  H.  A  Narrative  of  the  Expe¬ 
dition  sent  by  Her  Majesty’s  Government  to  the  River  Niger  in 
1841,  under  the  command  of  Captain  H.  D.  Trotter.  2  vols. 
London,  1848. 

Andersson,  Carl  Johan.  Lake  Ngami,  or  Explorations  and  Discoveries 
during  Four  Years’  Wanderings  in  the  Wilds  of  South  Africa. 
London,  1856. 

Bachofen,  Johan  Jacob.  Das  Mutterrecht.  Stuttgart,  1861. 

- Antiquarische  Briefe  vornehmlich  zur  Kenntniss  der  altesten  Ver- 

wandtschaftsbegriffe.  2  Bde.  Strassburg,  1881  and  1886. 

Bancroft,  Hubert  Howe.  The  Native  Races  of  the  Pacific  States  of 
North  America.  5  vols.  New  York,  1874 ;  San  Francisco,  1887. 

Bastian,  Adolf.  Afrikanische  Reisen.  Bremen,  1859. 

Bonwick,  James.  Daily  Life  and  Origin  of  the  Tasmanians.  London, 
1870. 

Brett,  W.  H.  The  Indian  Tribes  of  Guiana.  London,  1868. 

Burchell,  William  J.  Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Southern  Africa. 
London,  1822. 

Catlin,  George.  Letters  and  Notes  on  the  Manners,  Customs,  and 
Condition  of  the  North  American  Indians.  London,  1841; 
Philadelphia,  1857. 

Crantz,  David.  The  History  of  Greenland.  London,  1820. 

Curr,  Edward  M.  The  Australian  Race.  4  vols.  Melbourne,  1886-87. 

Darwin,  Charles  Robert.  Journal  of  Researches  into  the  Geology 
and  Natural  History  of  the  Various  Countries  visited  by  H.  M.  S. 
Beagle.  London,  1839. 

Drury,  Robert.  Madagascar,  or  Journal  during  Fifteen  Years’  Cap¬ 
tivity  on  that  Island.  London,  1831. 

Ellis,  William.  Polynesian  Researches.  4  vols.  London,  1829  and  1859. 

- History  of  Madagascar.  2  vols.  London,  1838. 

Erskine,  John  Elphinstone.  Journal  of  a  Cruise  among  the  Islands 
of  the  Western  Pacific.  London,  1853. 

Grey,  George.  Journals  of  Two  Expeditions  of  Discovery  in  North¬ 
west  and  Western  Australia,  1837-39.  2  vols.  London,  1841. 

Hawkesworth,  John.  An  Account  of  the  Voyages  of  Byron,  Wallis, 
Carteret,  and  Cook.  3  vols.  London,  1773-74. 


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431 


Hooker,  J.  Dalton.  Himalayan  Journals.  London,  1854. 

Hunter,  W.  W.  Annals  of  Rural  Bengal.  London,  1868. 

Knox,  Robert.  An  Historical  Relation  of  the  Island  Ceylon  in  the 
East  Indies.  London,  1681. 

Kolbe,  Pierre.  Description  du  cap  de  Bonne-Esperance,  oil  l’on 
trouve  tout  ce  qui  concerne  l’histoire  naturelle  du  pays;  la 
religion,  les  mceurs  et  les  usages  des  Hottentots,  et  l’etablisse- 
ment  des  Hollandois.  3  vols.  Amsterdam,  1741.  Original 
German  edition.  Nuremburg,  1719. 

Lander,  Richard  and  John.  Journal  of  an  Expedition  to  explore  the 
Course  and  Termination  of  the  Niger.  3  vols.  London,  1832. 

Latham,  R.  G.  Descriptive  Ethnology.  London,  1859. 

Letourneau,  Charles.  L’evolution  du  mariage  et  de  la  famille.  Paris, 
1888.  Translated :  The  Evolution  of  Marriage  and  of  the 
Family.  New  York,  1891 . 

- L’dvolution  juridique  dans  les  diverses  races  humaines.  Paris, 

1891. 

Lichtenstein,  Henry.  Travels  in  Southern  Africa  in  the  Years  1803- 
1806.  Translated  by  Anne  Plumptre.  2  vols.  London,  1812-15. 

Lumholtz,  Carl.  Among  Cannibals.  London  and  New  York,  1889. 

Maine,  Henry  James  Sumner.  Village  Communities  in  the  East  and 
West.  London,  1871  and  1876,  and  New  York,  1876. 

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and  New  York,  1888. 

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McLennan,  John  Ferguson.  Studies  in  Ancient  History.  Compris¬ 
ing  a  Reprint  of  Primitive  Marriage.  London,  1876. 

- The  Patriarchal  Theory.  Edited  and  completed  by  Donald 

McLennan.  London,  1885. 

Metz,  J.  F.  Die  Volkstamme  der  Nilagiri’s,  ihr  soziales  Leben  und 
ihre  religiosen  Gebrauche.  Basel,  1857. 

Mitchell,  Thomas  Livingston.  Three  Expeditions  into  the  Interior 
of  Eastern  Australia,  with  Descriptions  of  the  Recently  Explored 
Region  of  Australia  Felix  and  of  the  Present  Colony  of  New 
South  Wales.  2  vols.  London,  1838-39. 

Moerenhout,  J.  A.  Voyage  aux  iles  du  grand  ocean.  Paris,  1837. 

Morgan,  Lewis  Henry.  League  of  the  Iroquois.  Rochester,  1849 
and  1854. 

- Systems  of  Consanguinity  and  Affinity  of  the  Human  Family ;  in 

Smithsonian  Contributions  to  Knowledge.  Washington,  1871. 

- Ancient  Society.  London  and  New  York,  1877. 

- Houses  and  House-Life  of  the  American  Aborigines ;  in  Contribu¬ 
tions  to  North  American  Ethnology.  Vol.  IV.  Washington,  1881. 


432 


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O’Callaghan,  E.  B.  The  Documentary  History  of  the  State  of  New 
York.  Albany,  1850. 

Orcutt,  Samuel.  The  Indians  of  the  Housatonic  and  Naugatuck 
Valleys.  Hartford,  1882. 

Post,  Albert  Hermann.  Die  Geschlechtsgenossenschaft  der  Urzeit  und 
die  Entstehung  der  Ehe.  Oldenburg,  1875. 

- Studien  zur  Entwicklungsgeschichte  des  Familienrechts.  Olden¬ 
burg  and  Leipzig,  1890. 

Reclus,  Elie.  Les  Primitifs,  etudes  d’ethnologie  comparee.  Paris, 
1885.  Translated:  Primitive  Folk.  London,  1891. 

Reidel,  J.  G.  F.  De  sluik-  en  kroesharige  rassen  tusschen  Selebes  en 
Papua.  The  Hague,  1886. 

Ross,  John.  A  Voyage  of  Discovery  made  under  the  Orders  of  the 
Admiralty  in  his  Majesty’s  Ships  Isabella  and  Alexander  for  the 
Purpose  of  Exploring  Baffin’s  Bay  and  Inquiring  into  the  Prob¬ 
ability  of  a  Northwest  Passage.  London,  1819. 

St.  John,  Spenser.  Life  in  the  Forests  of  the  Far  East.  London, 
1862  and  1863. 

Seebohm,  Frederic.  The  Tribal  System  in  Wales.  London,  1895. 

Sirr,  Henry  Charles.  Ceylon  and  the  Cingalese.  2  vols.  London, 
1850. 

Smith,  W.  Robertson.  Kinship  and  Marriage  in  Early  Arabia.  Cam¬ 
bridge,  1885. 

Spix,  Johann  Bapt.  von,  und  Martius,  Carl  Friedr.  Phil.  von.  Reise 
in  Brasilien  auf  Befehl  Seiner  Majestat  Maximilian  Joseph  I. 
Konigs  von  Baiern  in  den  Jahren  1817  bis  1820  gemacht  und  be- 
schrieben.  Translated :  Travels  in  Brazil  in  the  Years  1817-20. 
2  vols.  London,  1824. 

Starcke,  C.  N.  The  Primitive  Family  in  its  Origin  and  Development. 
London  and  New  York,  1889. 

Tennent,  James  Emerson.  Ceylon.  2  vols.  London,  1859  and 
1860. 

- Sketches  of  the  Natural  History  of  Ceylon.  London,  1861. 

Turner,  George.  Nineteen  Years  in  Polynesia.  London,  1861. 

Waitz,  Theodor.  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker.  6  Bde.  Leipzig, 
1859-60  and  1872. 

- Introduction  to  Anthropology.  (A  translation  of  Bd.  I.  of  the 

Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker.)  London,  1863. 

Westermarck,  Edward.  The  History  of  Human  Marriage.  London 
and  New  York,  1891. 

Wood,  J.  G.  The  Uncivilized  Races  of  Men  in  All  Countries  of  the 
World.  London,  1868-70,  and  Hartford,  1870. 


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Articles 

Baxter,  Sylvester.  The  Father  of  the  Pueblos;  in  Harper’s  Maga¬ 
zine.  Yol.  LXY.  June,  1882. 

Belcher,  Edward.  (From  notes  by  S.  A.  St.  John.)  Notes  on  the 
Andaman  Islands ;  in  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society 
of  London.  New  Series.  Yol.  V.  1867. 

Deniker,  J.  Review  of  Prjer-alsky.  De  Za'isan  par  Hami  au  Thibet 
et  au  Iloang-ho  superieur.  St.  Petersburg,  1883.  Revue  d’an- 
thropologie.  Vol.  VII.  Series  2.  1884. 

Dorsey,  J.  Owen.  Osage  Traditions;  in  Sixth  Annual  Report  of  the 
Bureau  of  Ethnology.  Washington,  1884-85. 

Fielding,  H.  Burmese  Women;  in  Blackwood’s  Magazine.  Vol. 
CL VII.,  No.  5.  May,  1895. 

Heathcote,  Lieutenant.  Discussion  on  paper  by  Richard  Owen,  On 
the  Osteology  and  Dentition  of  the  Aborigines  of  the  Andaman 
Islands,  and  the  Relations  thereby  indicated  to  Other  Races  of 
Mankind;  in  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society.  New 
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Hopkins,  Edward  Washburn.  The  Social  and  Military  Position  of 
the  Ruling  Caste  in  Ancient  India,  as  represented  by  the  Sanscrit 
Epic;  in  the  Journal  of  the  American  Oriental  Society.  Vol. 
XHI.  1888. 

Hyades,  Paul.  Ethnographie  des  Fuegians ;  in  Bulletins  de  la  societe 
d’anthropologie  de  Paris.  Vol.  X.  Series  4.  1887. 

Lister,  J.  J.  Notes  on  the  Natives  of  Fakaofu;  in  Journal  of  the 
Anthropological  Institute.  Vol.  XXI.  August,  1891. 

Macpherson,  Samuel  Charters.  An  Account  of  the  Religious  Opin¬ 
ions  and  Observances  of  the  Khonds  of  Goomsur  and  Boad ;  in 
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1843. 

Matthews,  M.  C.  Notes  on  the  Manners,  Customs,  Religion,  Super¬ 
stitions,  etc.,  of  the  Australian  Native  ;  in  Journal  of  the  Anthro¬ 
pological  Institute.  Vol.  XXIV.  November,  1894. 

Peet,  Stephen  D.  Secret  Societies  and  Sacred  Mysteries ;  in  Memoirs 
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Powell,  J.  W.  Wyandotte  Government ;  in  First  Annual  Report  of 
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Sherwill,  Walter  S.  Notes  upon  a  Tour  through  the  Rdjmahal  Hills  ; 
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Shortt,  J.  An  Account  of  the  Hill  Tribes  of  the  Neilgherries ;  in 
Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society.  New  Series.  Vol. 
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Somerville,  Boyle  T.  Ethnological  Notes  on  New  Hebrides;  in  the 
Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute  of  Great  Britain  and 
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Thurn,  E.  F.  im.  Anthropological  Uses  of  the  Camera ;  in  Journal 
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Tyler,  Charles  Dolby.  The  River  Napo;  in  The  Geographical  Jour¬ 
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Tylor,  E.  B.  On  a  Method  of  Investigating  the  Development  of 
Institutions ;  applied  to  Laws  of  Marriage  and  Descent ;  Journal 
of  the  Anthropological  Institute.  Vol.  XVHI.  February,  1889. 


V 

DEMOLOGICAL  SOCIOLOGY 
Books 

Adams,  Henry  Carter.  Sixth  Annual  Report  on  the  Statistics  of 
Railways  in  the  United  States.  Washington,  1894. 

Addams,  Jane,  and  others.  Hull  House  Maps  and  Papers.  Boston, 
1895. 

- Philanthropy  and  Social  Progress.  New  York,  1893. 

Allen,  Grant.  Common  Sense  Science.  Boston,  1886. 

Andrews,  Charles  McLean.  The  Old  English  Manor.  Baltimore, 

1892. 

Aristotle.  On  the  Athenian  Constitution.  Translated  by  F.  G. 
Kenyon.  London,  1891. 

Bliss,  Edwin  Munsell.  The  Encyclopaedia  of  Missions.  2  vols. 
New  York,  1891. 

Broca,  Paul.  Recherches  sur  l’hybridite  animale  en  generale  et  sur 
l’hybridite  humaine  en  particulier.  Paris,  1860.  A  Collection 
of  Articles  published  in  the  Journal  de  la  Physiologie.  July, 
October,  1858.  April,  July,  October,  1859.  April,  1860. 

- Phenomena  of  Hybridity  in  Genus  Homo.  London,  1864. 

Bryce,  James.  The  American  Commonwealth.  2  vols.  London 
and  New  York,  1888  and  1894. 


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Census,  The  Tenth,  of  the  United  States.  Washington,  1883. 

Census,  Compendium  of  the  Eleventh,  of  the  United  States.  Wash* 
ington,  1892-94. 

Charities  Directory,  New  York.  Sixth  Edition.  New  York,  1895. 

Charities  and  Correction,  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of. 
Twentieth  Annual  Session.  Boston,  1893. 

Charities  and  Correction,  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of. 
Twenty-first  Annual  Session.  Boston,  1894. 

Charities  and  Correction,  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of. 
Twenty-second  Annual  Session.  Boston,  1895. 

Charities  and  Correction,  Thirty-first  Annual  Report  of  the  Commis¬ 
sioners  of.  New  York,  1892. 

Condorcet,  Marie  Jean  Antonie.  Esquisse  d’un  tableau  historique 
des  progres  de  l’esprit  humain.  2  vols.  Paris,  1795  and  1872. 
Translated  into  English  and  German.  Tubingen,  1795. 

Crime,  Annual  Report  of  the  Secretary  of  State  on  Statistics  of,  in 
the  State  of  New  York.  1893. 

Doolittle,  Justus.  Social  Life  of  the  Chinese.  2  vols.  New  York, 
1867. 

Dumont,  Arsene.  Depopulation  et  civilization.  Paris,  1890. 

Ellis,  Havelock.  The  Criminal.  London,  1892. 

Fere,  Charles.  Degenerescence  et  criminalite.  Paris,  1888. 

Fustel  de  Coulanges.  La  cit£  antique.  Paris,  1864  and  1878. 
Translated  by  W.  Small :  The  Ancient  City.  Boston  and  New 
York,  1874  and  1882. 

- Origines  du  systeme  feodal.  Paris,  1890. 

Galton,  Francis.  Hereditary  Genius.  London,  1869. 

- Natural  Inheritance.  London,  1889. 

Gannett,  Henry.  The  Building  of  a  Nation.  New  York,  1895. 

Gardner,  Percy.  New  Chapters  in  Greek  History.  New  York  and 
London,  1892. 

Garofalo,  R.  Criminologia.  Studio  sul  delitto  sulle  sue  cause  e  sui 
mezzi  di  repressione.  Turin,  1885.  Translated :  La  Criminol- 
ogie.  Paris,  1892. 

Gomme,  George  Lawrence.  The  Village  Community.  New  York, 
1890. 

Guyau,  Marie  Jean.  L’art  au  point  de  vue  sociologique.  Paris,  1889. 

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Hansen,  Georg.  Die  drei  Bevolkerungsstufen.  Munich,  1889. 

Harris,  William  T.  Annual  Reports  of  the  Commissioner  of  Educa¬ 
tion.  Washington. 

Hopkins,  Edward  Washburn.  The  Religions  of  India.  Boston  and 
London,  1895. 


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Izoulet,  Jean.  La  cite  moderne  et  metaphysique  de  la  sociologie. 
Paris,  1894. 

Jephson,  Henry.  The  Platform.  London  and  New  York,  1892. 
Kovalevsky,  Maxime.  Modern  Customs  and  Ancient  Laws  of  Russia. 
London, 1891. 

Laurent,  fitnile.  Les  habitues  des  prisons  de  Paris.  Lyons  and  Paris, 
1890. 

Laveleye,  Emile  de.  De  la  propriety  et  de  ses  formes  primitives. 

Paris,  1874.  Translated :  Primitive  Property.  London,  1878. 
Levasseur,  E.  La  population  framjaise.  3  vols.  Paris,  1889-92. 
Lloyd,  Henry  Demarest.  Wealth  against  Commonwealth.  New 
York,  1894. 

Lombroso,  Cesare.  L’uomo  delinquente.  Milan,  1876.  Translated: 
L’homme  criminel.  1  vol.  and  atlas.  Paris,  1887. 

■ - L’uomo  di  genio  in  rapporta  alia  psichiatria,  alia  storia  ed  all’ 

estetica.  Turin,  1888.  Translated  :  The  Man  of  Genius.  Lon¬ 
don,  1891. 

Lombroso,  Cesare,  and  Laschi,  R.  H  delitto  politico  e  le  rivoluzioni 
in  rapporto  al  diritto,  all  antropologia  criminale  ed  alia  scienza 
di  governo.  Turin,  1890.  Translated :  Le  crime  politique  et 
les  revolutions.  2  vols.  Paris,  1892. 

Longstaff,  G.  B.  Studies  in  Statistics.  London,  1891. 

MacDonald,  Arthur.  Criminology.  New  York,  1892. 

- Abnormal  Man.  Washington,  Bureau  of  Education,  1893. 

Mallock,  William  Hurrell.  Social  Equality.  London  and  New  York, 
1882. 

Mayo-Smith,  Richmond.  Statistics  and  Sociology.  New  York,  1895. 
Morris,  George  S.  Hegel’s  Philosophy  of  the  State  and  of  History. 
Chicago,  1887. 

Morselli,  Enrico.  II  suicido,  saggio  di  statistica  morale  comparata. 
Milan,  1879.  Translated:  Suicide:  an  Essay  on  Comparative 
Moral  Statistics.  London,  1881,  and  New  York,  1882. 

Nitti,  Francesco  S.  La  popolazione  e  il  sistema  sociale.  Turin  and 
Rome,  1894. 

Pearson,  Charles  H.  National  Life  and  Character.  London,  1893. 
Petrie,  W.  M.  Flinders.  Ten  Years’  Digging  in  Egypt.  London  and 
New  York,  1892. 

Roosevelt,  Theodore.  The  Winning  of  the  West.  3  vols.  New 
York,  1889-94. 

Seebohm,  Frederic.  The  English  Village  Community  examined  in 
its  Relations  to  the  Manorial  and  Tribal  Systems.  London, 
1883  and  1884. 

Shaler,  Nathaniel  Southgate.  The  United  States  of  America.  2  vols. 
New  York,  1894. 


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Simcox,  E.  J.  Primitive  Civilizations.  2  vols.  London,  1894. 

Thompson,  Daniel  Greenleaf.  The  Problem  of  Evil.  London,  1887. 

Vincent,  Frank.  Actual  Africa.  New  York,  1895. 

Vinogradoff,  Paul.  Villainage  in  England :  Essays  in  English  Medi¬ 
aeval  History.  Oxford,  1892. 

Woods,  Robert  Archey.  English  Social  Movements.  New  York, 
1891. 

Wright,  Carroll  D.  A  Report  on  Marriage  and  Divorce  in  the  United 
States,  1867  to  1886,  including  an  Appendix  relating  to  Marriage 
and  Divorce  in  Certain  Countries  in  Europe.  Washington,  1889. 

- Ninth  Annual  Report  of  the  Commissioner  of  Labour,  1893. 

Washington,  1894. 

Articles 

Brownell,  Jane  Louise.  The  Significance  of  a  Decreasing  Birth-rate; 
in  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science.  Vol.  V.,  No.  1.  July,  1894. 

Clark,  Francis  E.  The  Young  People’s  Society  of  Christian  Endeav¬ 
our ;  in  Johnson’s  Universal  Cyclopsedia.  New  Edition.  Vol.  II. 
New  York,  1893. 

College  Settlements  Association,  Annual  Reports  of  the.  New  York. 

Cook,  Waldo  M.  Murders  in  Massachusetts;  in  Publications  of  the 
American  Statistical  Association.  New  Series.  Vol.  III.,  No.  23. 
September,  1893. 

Courtney,  Leonard.  The  Swarming  of  Men ;  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen¬ 
tury.  No.  CXXXIII.  March,  1888. 

Dewey,  Davis  R.  Statistics  of  Suicide  in  New  England ;  in  Publicar 
tions  of  the  American  Statistical  Association.  New  Series.  Nos. 
18,  19.  June,  September,  1892. 

East  Side  House,  Annual  Reports  of  the.  New  York. 

Falkner,  Roland  P.  Statistics  of  Private  Corporations ;  in  Publica¬ 
tions  of  the  American  Statistical  Association.  New  Series. 
No.  10.  June,  1890. 

Ferrero,  G.  The  Problem  of  Woman  from  a  Bio-Sociological  Point 
of  View;  in  the  Monist.  Vol.  IV.,  No.  2.  January,  1894. 

Giddings,  Franklin  Henry.  The  Nature  and  Conduct  of  Political 
Majorities;  in  Political  Science  Quarterly.  Vol.  Vn.,  No.  1. 
March,  1892. 

- The  Ethics  of  Social  Progress ;  in  the  International  Journal  of 

Ethics.  Vol.  III.,  No.  2.  January,  1893. 

Hadley,  Arthur  T.  Review  of  Nitti’s  La  popolazione  e  il  sistema 
sociale;  in  the  Political  Science  Quarterly.  Vol.  X.,  No.  1 
March,  1895. 


438 


PRINCIPLES  OP  SOCIOLOGY 


Huxley,  Thomas  Henry.  The  Forefathers  of  the  English  People ;  in 
Nature.  Yol.  I.,  No.  20.  March  17,  1870. 

Jenks,  Jeremiah  W.  The  Guidance  of  Public  Opinion ;  in  the  Amer¬ 
ican  Journal  of  Sociology.  Vol.  L,  No.  2.  September,  1895. 

Kellogg,  Charles  D.  Charity  Organization  in  the  United  States ;  in 
Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correc¬ 
tion.  Twentieth  Annual  Session.  Boston,  1893. 

Kendall,  Henry.  Natural  Heirship:  or  All  the  World  Akin;  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century.  Yol.  XYHI.  October,  1885. 

Kovalevsky,  Maxime.  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Yillage  Community 
in  Russia;  in  Archaeological  Review.  Yol.  I.,  No.  4.  June, 
1888. 

Mayo-Smith,  Richmond.  The  Influence  of  Immigration  on  the  United 
States  of  America;  in  Bulletin  de  l’institut  international  de  sta- 
tistique.  Vol.  III.,  1888.  Rome,  1888. 

- Statistics  and  Economics ;  in  Publications  of  the  American 

Economic  Association.  Yol.  HI.,  Nos.  4  and  5.  September  and 
November,  1888. 

Patten,  Simon  N.  The  Law  of  Population  restated ;  in  the  Political 
Science  Quarterly.  Vol.  X.,  No.  1.  March,  1895. 

Ramsay,  W.  M.  A  Study  of  Phrygian  Art;  in  Journal  of  Hellenic 
Studies.  Vol.  IX.,  1889. 

Secret  Societies  in  China;  in  the  Saturday  Review.  Vol.  72, No.  1873. 
September  19,  1891. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  A  Theory  of  Population  deduced  from  the  General 
Law  of  Animal  Fertility;  in  Westminster  Review.  New  Series. 
Yol.  I.,  No.  2.  1852. 

- On  the  Americans.  Address  at  the  Farewell  Banquet  of  Novem¬ 
ber  11,  1882.  New  York,  1883. 

Tarde,  Gabriel.  Etudes  penales  et  sociales :  essay  on  Les  maladies  de 
l’imitation.  Lyons  and  Paris,  1892. 

University  Settlement  Society,  Annual  Reports  of  the.  New  York. 

Wright,  Carroll  D.  An  Historical  Sketch  of  the  Knights  of  Labour ; 
Quarterly  Journal  of  Economics.  Vol.  I.,  No.  2.  January,  1887. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


439 


VI 

ECONOMICS,  PUBLIC  LAW,  AND  POLITICAL  SCIENCE 

Books 


Aristotle.  The  Politics. 

Bagehot,  Walter.  The  English  Constitution.  (Essays  in  Fortnightly 
Review,  1865  and  1867.)  London,  1867  and  1885. 

Bentham,  Jeremy.  A  Fragment  on  Government.  London,  1776 ; 
Oxford,  1891. 

Burgess,  John  William.  Political  Science  and  Comparative  Consti¬ 
tutional  Law.  2  vols.  Boston,  1890  and  1891. 

Cicero.  De  Legibus. 

Cournot,  Augustin.  Recherches  sur  les  principes  mathematiques  de 
la  theorie  des  richesses.  Paris,  1838. 

Gaius.  Institutionum  Juris  Civilis  Commentarii  Quatuor. 

Gossen,  Hermann  Heinrich.  Entwickelungen  der  Gesetze  des  mensch- 
lichen  Verkehrs,  und  der  daraus  fliessenden  Regeln  fur  mensch- 
liches  Han  dein .  Brunswick,  1854. 

Grotius,  Hugo.  De  Jure  Belli  et  Pacis  Libri  Tres,  in  quibus  jus 
naturae  et  gentium,  item  juris  publici  praecipua  explicantur. 
Paris,  1625,  and  many  subsequent  editions. 

Harrington,  James.  The  Oceana  and  Other  Works.  London,  1700, 
1771,  and  1887. 

Hobbes,  Thomas.  De  Corpore  Politico ;  or  the  Elements  of  Law, 
Moral  and  Politic,  with  discourses  upon  moral  heads,  as :  of  the 
law  of  nature ;  of  oaths  and  covenants ;  of  several  kinds  of  gov¬ 
ernment,  with  the  changes  and  revolutions  of  them.  London, 
1650. 

- The  Leviathan,  or  the  Matter,  Power,  and  Form  of  a  Common¬ 
wealth,  Ecclesiastical  and  Civil.  London,  1651,  and  many  sub¬ 
sequent  editions. 

- The  Elements  of  Law,  Natural  and  Politic.  A  reprint  of  the 

Human  Nature  and  of  the  De  Corpore  Politico.  Edited  by 
Ferdinand  Tonnies.  London,  1889. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  Jr.  The  Common  Law.  Boston,  1881. 

Jevons,  W.  Stanley.  The  Theory  of  Political  Economy.  London, 
1871,  and  subsequent  editions. 

Lex  Salica;  the  Ten  Texts,  with  the  Glosses  and  the  Lex  Emendata. 
Synoptically  edited  by  J.  H.  Hessels.  With  notes  on  the  Frank¬ 
ish  words  in  the  Lex  Salica  by  II.  Kern.  London,  1880. 


440 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Lieber,  Francis.  Civil  Liberty  and  Self-Government.  2  vols.,  Phila¬ 
delphia  and  London,  1853 ;  and  Philadelphia,  1883. 

Locke,  John.  An  Essay  concerning  the  true  Original,  Extent,  and 
End  of  Civil  Government.  London,  1690. 

Maurer,  Georg  Ludwig  von.  Einleitung  zur  Geschichte  der  Mark-, 
Hof-,  Dorf-,  und  Stadt-  Verfassung  und  der  offentlichen  Gewalt. 
Munich,  1854. 

Nasse,  Erwin  von.  fiber  die  Mittelalterliche  Feldgemeinschaft  und 
die  Einhegungen  des  16.  Jahrhunderts  in  England.  Bonn, 
1869.  Translated  :  The  Agricultural  Community  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  Inclosures  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  in  England. 
London,  1871  and  1872 

Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques.  Du  contrat  social  ou  principes  du  droit  poli¬ 
tique.  Amsterdam,  1762  ;  Paris,  1889. 

Smith,  Adam.  An  Inquiry  into  the  Nature  and  Causes  of  the  Wealth 
of  Nations.  2  vols.,  London,  1776.  3  vols.,  Dublin,  1776. 

2  vols.,  Oxford,  1869. 

Stephen,  James  Fitzjames.  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity.  Lon¬ 
don,  1873  and  1874. 

- A  History  of  the  Criminal  Law  of  England.  3  vols.  London, 

1883. 

Walker,  Francis  A.  The  Wages  Question.  New  York,  1876. 
Walras,  Leon.  Elements  d’economie  politique  pure,  ou  theorie  de  la 
richesse  sociale.  Lausanne,  1874  and  1889. 


Articles 

Burgess,  John  William.  The  American  Commonwealth ;  in  the  Polit¬ 
ical  Science  Quarterly.  Vol.  I.,  No.  1.  March,  1886. 

Giddings,  Franklin  Henry.  The  Concepts  of  Utility,  Value,  and  Cost; 
in  Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association.  Vol.  VI., 
Nos.  1  and  2.  January  and  March,  1891. 

- The  Idea  and  Definition  of  Value ;  in  Publications  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Economic  Association.  Vol.  VIII.,  No.  1.  January,  1893. 

Patten,  Simon  N.  The  Consumption  of  Wealth ;  in  Publications  of 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Political  Economy  and  Public 
Law  Series.  No.  IV.  Philadelphia,  1889. 

- The  Theory  of  Dynamic  Economics;  in  Publications  of  the  Uni¬ 
versity  of  Pennsylvania,  Political  Economy  and  Public  Law 
Series.  No.  XL  Philadelphia,  1892. 

Smith,  Munroe.  The  Law  of  Nationality;  in  Lalor’s  Cyclopaedia  of 
Political  Science.  Chicago,  1886. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


441 


VII 

PHILOSOPHY,  LOGIC,  PSYCHOLOGY,  AND  PHYSICAL 

SCIENCE 

Books 

Baldwin,  James  Mark.  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the 
Race.  New  York,  1895. 

Dewey,  John.  Psychology.  New  York,  1887. 

Fiske,  John.  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy.  2  vols.  London, 
1874,  and  Boston,  1875. 

- The  Destiny  of  Man.  Boston,  1884. 

Fouillee,  Alfred.  L’evolutionnisme  des  idees-forces.  Paris,  1890. 

- La  psychologie  des  idees-forces.  Paris,  1893. 

Hegel,  Georg  Wilhelm  Friedrich.  Vorlesungen  iiber  die  Philosophic 
der  Geschichte.  2  Bde.  Berlin,  1837.  Translated :  The  Phi¬ 
losophy  of  History.  London,  1861. 

Hobbes,  Thomas.  Human  Nature;  or  the  Fundamental  Elements  of 
Policy.  Being  a  discovery  of  the  faculties,  acts  and  passions  of 
the  soul  of  man,  from  their  original  causes:  according  to  such 
philosophical  principles  as  are  not  commonly  known  or  asserted. 
London,  1650. 

Huxley,  Thomas  Henry.  Physiography :  an  Introduction  to  the 
Study  of  Nature.  London,  1877 ;  New  York,  1878. 

Icard,  S.  La  femme  pendant  la  periode  menstruelle ;  etude  de  psy¬ 
chologie  morbide  et  de  medeeine  legale.  Paris,  1890. 

James,  William.  Principles  of  Psychology.  2  vols.  New  York  and 
London,  1890. 

Lewes,  George  Henry.  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind.  5  vols.  Lon¬ 
don  and  Boston,  1874  and  1880. 

Marshall,  Henry  Rutgers.  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  ^Esthetics.  London 
and  New  York,  1894. 

Mill,  John  Stuart.  A  System  of  Logic.  London,  1843,  and  New 
York,  1890. 

Morgan,  C.  Lloyd.  Introduction  to  Comparative  Psychology.  Lon¬ 
don,  1894,  and  New  York. 

Ribot,  Theodule  Armand.  Les  maladies  de  la  volonte.  Paris,  1883 
and  1891.  Translated  :  Diseases  of  the  Will.  New  York,  1884. 

- Les  maladies  de  la  personality.  Paris,  1885  and  1894.  Trans¬ 
lated  :  Diseases  of  Personality.  New  York,  1887  ;  Chicago,  1894. 


442 


PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Ribot,  Theodule  Armand.  Psychologie  de  l’attention.  Paris,  1889. 
Translated :  The  Psychology  of  Attention.  Chicago,  1890. 

Schopenhauer,  Arthur.  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung :  vier 
Bucher,  nebst  einem  Anhange,  der  die  Kritik  der  Kantischen 
Philosophie  enthalt.  Leipzig,  1819.  Translated :  The  World 
as  Will  and  Idea.  London  and  Boston,  1888. 

Smith,  Adam.  The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.  London,  1759, 
1767,  and  1869. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  First  Principles  of  a  New  System  of  Philosophy. 
London,  1862,  and  New  York,  1864.  Revised  edition,  London 
and  New  York,  1867. 

- The  Principles  of  Biology.  2  vols.  London  and  Edinburgh, 

1864  ;  New  York,  1866-67. 

- The  Principles  of  Psychology.  London,  1855.  2  vols.  London 

and  New  York,  1869-73. 

- The  Principles  of  Ethics.  2  vols.  London,  1879, 1892,  and  New 

York,  1892-93. 

Stephen,  Leslie.  Science  of  Ethics.  London  and  New  York,  1882. 

Taylor,  Jeremy.  Ductor  Dubitantium,  or  the  Rule  of  Conscience  in. 
all  her  General  Measures ;  serving  as  a  Great  Instrument  for 
the  Determination  of  Cases  of  Conscience.  2  vols.  London, 
1660. 

Ziwet,  Alexander.  An  Elementary  Treatise  on  Theoretical  Mechan¬ 
ics.  3  vols.  London,  1893-94 ;  New  York,  1894. 

Articles 

Gardiner,  Edward  G.  Weismann  and  Maupas  on  the  Origin  of 
Death ;  in  Biological  Lectures  delivered  at  the  Marine  Biological 
Laboratory  of  Woods’  Holl.  1890.  Boston,  1891. 

Hodgson,  Shadworth  H.  Free  Will:  an  Analysis;  in  Mind.  Vol. 
XVI.,  No.  2.  April,  1891. 

Huxley,  Thomas  Henry.  The  Scientific  Aspects  of  Positivism ;  in 
Fortnightly  Review.  New  Series.  Vol.  V.  June,  1869,  and  in 
Lay  Sermons,  Addresses,  and  Reviews.  New  York,  1870. 

Royce,  Josiah.  Review  of  Hyslop’s  The  Elements  of  Ethics ;  in  Inter¬ 
national  Journal  of  Ethics.  Vol.  VI.,  No.  1.  October,  1895. 

Spencer,  Herbert.  The  Classification  of  the  Sciences  (pamphlet), 
London,  1864;  in  Recent  Discussions,  New  York,  1871,  and  in 
Essays:  Scientific,  Political,  and  Speculative.  3  vols.  New 
York,  1891. 

Stephen,  Leslie.  Ethics  and  the  Struggle  for  Existence ;  in  Contem¬ 
porary  Review.  Vol.  LXIV.,  No.  2.  August,  1893. 


INDEX 


Numbers  refer  to  Pages 


Abbott,  Charles  Conrad,  aggregations 
of  birds  conditioned  by  environment, 
82 ;  paleoliths  from  Trenton  gravels, 
218. 

Ability,  differences  of,  341. 

Abstract  sciences,  relation  of  sociology 
to,  39  sq. ;  not  classed  with  concrete, 
47. 

Action,  initial,  42 ;  marginal,  42;  chief 
condition  of  social,  136;  of  individ¬ 
uals  in  the  crowd,  150 ;  interpretation 
of  simultaneous,  388 ;  simultaneous, 
388  sq. ;  concerted,  390  sq. 

Activity,  final,  42;  marginal,  42;  so¬ 
ciology  an  attempt  to  account  for 
social,  8 ;  social,  agreeable  or  antago¬ 
nistic,  20 ;  outward  product  of  inward 
state,  25 ;  high  development  an  inci¬ 
dent  of  bountiful  environment,  84; 
vital  energy  the  source  of  social,  88 ; 
a  clash  of  atoms  or  of  thoughts,  100 ; 
in  form  of  play  or  festivity,  116  sq. ; 
carried  on  by  social  constitution,  171 ; 
social,  follows  line  of  least  resistance, 
369;  social,  periodic,  370;  forms  of 
the  association  of,  388. 

Adams,  Charles  Francis,  on  importance 
of  corporations,  187. 

Adams,  Henry  C.,  statistics  of  railway 
corporations,  188. 

Adaptation,  of  social  grouping  to  con¬ 
ditions  of  life,  154. 

Addams,  Jane,  on  imiversity  settle¬ 
ments,  192. 

Admixture  of  elements,  necessary  to 
population  of  true  natural  society, 
100. 

Adoption,  of  captives  a  cause  of  inter¬ 
mixture  of  savage  hordes,  98;  into 
metronymic  horde,  160;  into  patro¬ 
nymic  horde,  166 ;  into  natural 


brotherhoods,  270;  among  animal^ 
270;  regulated  by  clan,  278. 

Adultery,  as  regarded  under  ancestor 
worship,  292. 

^Esthetic  tradition,  secondary,  141; 
analysis,  144. 

.Esthetic  sense,  origin  of  the,  248. 

Aggregation,  first  formed  by  external 
conditions,  19 ;  composed  of  like 
units,  19;  problems  of,  71;  the  first 
stage  of  social  synthesis,  73 ;  of 
animals,  79  sq. ;  of  men,  81  sq. ; 
relation  to  environment,  82  sq. ; 
favourable  to  further  aggregation, 
87 ;  distinguished  from  association, 
100;  pauper  and  criminal,  128;  of 
families,  157 ;  of  the  hominine  spe¬ 
cies,  221. 

Aggregation,  congregate,  definition 
and  explanation,  91  sq. ;  primary 
and  secondary,  93;  due  to  individ¬ 
ual  emigration,  93 ;  development 
with  genetic  aggregation,  95  sq. ; 
necessary  to  population  of  the  true 
natural  society,  100 ;  before  the  ad¬ 
vent  of  man,  199;  among  prehistoric 
men  conditioned  by  food  supply, 
210;  of  hordes,  274;  effect  of  con¬ 
quest,  309. 

Aggregation,  genetic,  definition  and 
explanation,  89;  examples  of,  90; 
development  with  congregation,  95 
sq.;  necessary  to  the  population  of 
a  true  natural  society,  100  ;  each 
group  a  product  of,  153 ;  before  the 
advent  of  man,  199 ;  necessary  to  a 
common  culture,  245. 

Aggression,  a  common  interest  of 
primitive  man,  244;  cause  of  fed¬ 
eration  of  tribes,  169;  equilibrium 
of  strength  maintained  by  acts  of, 


444 


INDEX 


113;  economic,  a  function  of  an 
economic  association,  189. 

Agouti,  dramatic  imitation  of,  among 
Carib  Indians,  118. 

Agreement,  in  thought  and  feeling  a 
ground  of  unity  of  purpose,  391. 

Agriculture,  first  choice  of  American 
people  among  occupations,  339. 

Alaskans,  secret  societies  among,  173. 

Alcoholism,  contributory  to  revolu¬ 
tions,  riots,  and  crimes,  136. 

Aleutian  islands,  polyandry  in,  155. 

Algonquins,  territory  of,  84;  wars 
with  Iroquois,  92;  village  grouping 
of,  161  sq. 

Allen,  Grant,  on  characteristics  of  the 
English  people,  313. 

Allen  and  Thompson,  inland  negroes 
metronymic,  163. 

Alliance,  and  consciousness  of  kind,  18 ; 
evolved  by  means  of  social  mind,  73; 
action  of  social  mind  upon,  74;  anal¬ 
ysis,  114  sq. ;  an  essential  activity  of 
association,  116;  a  primary  tradi¬ 
tion,  141 ;  analysis  of  the  tradition 
of,  142 ;  among  animals  partly  tra¬ 
ditional,  143. 

Altitude,  influence  on  aggregation,  82 ; 
effect  on  distribution  of  population, 
87. 

Amazonian  Indians,  family  life  of,  155 ; 
horde  organization  of,  159. 

American  Federation  of  Labour,  189; 
Protective  Association,  181 ;  Revo¬ 
lution,  301 ;  standard  of  living,  145. 

Amoeba,  power  of  discrimination  of  ,106. 

Amorites,  310. 

Amusements,  of  social  value,  149;  di¬ 
rected  by  clan,  281;  by  phratry, 
218  sq. 

Anarchy,  outbreaks  in  Sicily,  136; 
attention  paid  to,  351. 

Anatomy,  relation  to  biology,  32;  as 
a  statical  study,  57 ;  as  a  non- 
statical  study,  57 ;  changed  by  pro¬ 
longation  of  infancy,  229. 

Anatomy,  social,  62. 

Ancestor  worship,  coherent  with  pa¬ 
ternal  authority,  64 ;  origin  of,  290 ; 
reaction  upon  domestic  life,  291  sq. ; 
reaction  upon  clan  organization, 
292  sq. 

Andamans,  see  Mincopis. 

Andersson,  Carl  J.,  Damaras  metro¬ 
nymic,  163. 


Andrews,  Charles  McLean,  on  position 
of  land  cultivators  in  village  com¬ 
munity,  317. 

Animals,  some  habits  in  common  with 
men,  61 ;  criminals  among,  128 ;  life 
prior  to  advent  of  man,  199  sq. ;  ad¬ 
vantages  of  social,  201. 

Animistic  tradition,  analysis,  143  sq. 

Antagonism,  aroused  by  social  rela¬ 
tions,  20 ;  causes  of,  113 ;  disappear¬ 
ance  of,  123. 

Antelopes,  watchfulness  for  safety  of 
herd,  115 ;  family  relations  of,  154. 

Anthropogenic  sociology,  definition, 74. 

Anthropogenic  Association,  Book  III., 
Chap.  II.,  208  sq. 

Anti-Masonic  party,  184. 

Anti-social,  expulsion  of  strong,  113; 
class,  72,  127  sq. 

Ants,  classified  with  the  wise  man,  61 ; 
genetic  aggregations  of,  89  ;  hill¬ 
building  of,  143 ;  protected  by  social 
habits,  204 ;  sociability  and  intelli¬ 
gence,  206. 

Apaches,  162. 

Appetite,  pleasures  of,  385. 

Approval,  in  relation  to  choice,  401  sq. 

Arabs,  marriage  by  capture  among, 
286  sq. ;  ancestor  worship  among, 
290. 

Arawaks,  beena  marriage  among,  268. 

Arbitrations  function  of  the  state,  178. 

Archaeology,  28,  72. 

Archaeological  remains,  showing  con¬ 
nection  of  association  and  food- 
supply,  211. 

Arctic  highlanders,  aggregation  of, 
81 ;  undifferentiated  horde  of,  160. 

Aristotle,  begiunings  of  scientific  ob¬ 
servation,  classification,  and  gen¬ 
eralization  of  social  facts,  5 ;  did 
not  separate  politics  from  ethics,  6 ; 
objective  explanation  of  society,  10 ; 
man  a  political  animal,  37 ;  on  the 
social  class,  127 ;  on  the  state,  174 ; 
on  reorganization  of  society,  321 ; 
on  “  nature,”  358. 

Arts,  modified  in  passing  from  nation 
to  nation,  111 ;  dependent  on  density 
of  population,  367 ;  view  of  things 
and  persons  acting  from  inward 
impulse,  381. 

Aryans,  invasion  of  Palestine  by,  93 , 
polyandry  among  early,  156 ;  ances* 
tor  worship  among,  291. 


INDEX 


445 


Assimilation,  an  elementary  social 
phenomenon,  14. 

Association,  developed  within  the  ag¬ 
gregation,  19;  determined  by  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  20 ;  cause  of  good 
feeling  among  men,  38;  multiplies 
conscious  experiences,  43;  relation  to 
pleasure  and  pain,  44;  development 
of  notions  of  right  and  wrong  due  to, 
45 ;  problems  of,  71 ;  distinguished 
from  aggregation,  100 ;  and  com¬ 
munication,  109 ;  essential  activities 
of,  116 ;  influence  on  individuals,  121 ; 
develops  generalization,  abstract 
thought,  and  invention,  122;  creates 
a  social  nature,  123;  necessary  to 
tolerant  nature,  124;  modifies  physi¬ 
cal,  mental,  and  moral  nature,  131 ; 
social  mind  result  of,  132 ;  influence 
on  animal  life  prior  to  advent  of 
man,  199  sq. ;  mental  consequences 
of,  200;  relation  to  variation,  200 
sq. ;  relation  to  survival,  43, 203  sq. ; 
among  man’s  immediate  ancestors, 
221 ;  a  factor  in  human  differentia¬ 
tion,  230 ;  begins  with  birth  of  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  376;  of  presence, 
376  sq.;  of  activity,  377;  social 
organization  determines  extent  of, 
393  sq. ;  civic,  the  basis  of  political 
cooperation,  321 ;  types  of  conscious, 
394. 

Association,  purposive,  membership, 
171 ;  in  tribal  societies,  172  sq. ;  in 
civil  societies,  174  sq. ;  classes  of  pri¬ 
vate,  174  sq. ;  composition  and  con¬ 
stitution  of,  175;  secret  and  open, 
175  sq.;  distinguished  from  volitional 
association,  386  sq. 

Association,  volitional,  75,  386  sq.,  398. 

Associations,  open,  182  sq.;  political, 
180  sq. ;  private  cultural,  175, 190  sq. ; 
private  economic,  186  sq. ;  private 
juristic,  174,  185  sq. ;  private  indus¬ 
trial,  174;  private  political,  174. 

Associations,  secret,  in  China,  175 
sq. 

Assyrians,  a  conquering  people,  309. 

Astronomy,  46,  50,  59. 

Athabascans,  162. 

Athens,  a  demogenic  commonwealth, 
299;  attempts  to  reorganize  com¬ 
monwealth,  320  sq. 

Attack,  a  factor  in  all  conflicts,  102 ; 
before  the  advent  of  man,  199. 


Attention,  voluntary,  developed  by 
association,  121  sq. 

Attitude,  expression  of  conscious  states 
by  means  of,  108. 

Attraction,  centres  of,  91. 

Aufklarung,  301. 

Austin,  John,  laid  foundations  of  ana¬ 
lytical  jurisprudence,  51 ;  source  of 
political  sovereignty  in  the  collec¬ 
tive  will,  418. 

Australian  Blackfellows.  See  Black- 
fellows. 

Authority,  subjects  of,  176 ;  makers  of 
general,  176  sq. ;  makers  of  legal, 
176  sq.;  agents  of  legal,  176  sq.; 
paternal,  in  relation  to  ancestor 
worship,  64. 

Autogeny,  necessary  to  population  of 
true  natural  society,  100 ;  necessary 
to  a  common  culture,  245. 

Aztecs,  84. 

Ba‘al  marriage,  286  sq. 

Baboons,  subordination  to  one  leader, 
115. 

Babylonia,  a  demogenic  common¬ 
wealth,  299;  did  not  get  beyond 
first  stage  of  progress,  299,  301. 

Bachofen,  J.  J.,  disproof  of  the  patri¬ 
archal  theory,  94 ;  theory  of  general 
promiscuity,  263. 

Bacon,  Francis,  on  man’s  social  na¬ 
ture,  38. 

Bagehot,  Walter,  on  the  nation-making 
age,  323 ;  type  of  each  community 
fixed  by  variation  and  selection,  326  ; 
on  progress,  357 ;  on  imitation,  389; 
on  kings  and  leadership,  390. 

Baldwin,  James  M.,  on  results  of 
association,  122. 

Bancroft,  H.  H.,  choosing  the  totem 
on  the  isthmus  of  Tehuantepec,  251. 

Bantu  tribes,  polyandry  among,  156. 

Baptists,  190. 

Barrows,  burial,  as  evidences  of  suc¬ 
cessive  overflowings  of  population, 
311. 

Barter,  280. 

Bastian,  Adolf,  Congos  metronymic, 
163. 

Baxter,  Sylvester,  on  division  of  labour 
among  Zuni,  278. 

Beavers,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Bechuanas,  tribal  organization  o£ 
167  sq. 


446 


•  INDEX 


Bee,  a  form  of  cooperation,  278  sq. 

Bees,  genetic  aggregations  of,  89 ;  con¬ 
gregate  aggregation  of,  92. 

Beethoven,  395. 

Beetles,  mutual  aid  among,  114. 

Belcher,  Edward,  on  family  life  of 
Mincopis,  155,  266. 

Belief,  social  integration  of,  134  sq. ; 
traditional,  143  sq. ;  important  fac¬ 
tor  in  political  association,  180 ;  con¬ 
dition  of  membership  in  cultural 
associations,  190. 

Beneficium,  primitive  forms  of,  293. 

Bentham,  Jeremy,  definition  of  natu¬ 
ral  and  political  society,  4;  sub¬ 
jective  explanation  of  society,  10; 
theory  of  subjective  utility  41. 

Bentley,  Arthur,  F.,  on  present  differ¬ 
entiation  of  scientific  thought,  23. 

Berkeley,  George,  subjective  explana¬ 
tion  of  society,  10. 

Binet,  Alfred,  on  psychical  beginnings 
of  association  in  lowest  animal  life, 
43. 

Biology,  46,  50,  57 ;  law  of  natural 
selection  the  core  of,  7 ;  Spencer’s 
principles  of  sociology  derived  from 
principles  of,  8 ;  study  of  repetition 
in,  15 ;  relation  of  sociology  to,  21 
sq.;  beginnings  of,  32 ;  beginnings  of 
investigation  in,  54 ;  static  of  Cuvier 
preceded  kinetic  of  Lamarck  and 
Darwin,  59. 

Birds,  influenced  in  aggregation  by 
environment,  82;  form  of  aggrega¬ 
tion  of,  89;  influenced  by  natural 
selection,  91;  congregation  of,  92; 
mutual  aid  among,  114 ;  play  of  the 
young,  117 ;  dances  of  Eskimo  rep¬ 
resentative  of,  118 ;  social  mind 
among,  135;  social  composition  of, 
154 ;  nest  building  of,  143. 

Birth-rate,  represents  expenditure  of 
surplus  energy,  88  sq. ;  main  factor 
in  perpetuation  of  every  local  com¬ 
munity,  99  sq. ;  ratio  to  death-rate 
the  index  of  the  vitality  classes, 
125 ;  diminishes  as  rate  of  individ¬ 
ual  evolution  increases,  337 ;  depen¬ 
dent  on  degree  of  prosperity,  368. 

Bison,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Blackfellows,  Australian,  aggregation 
of,  81 ;  effect  of  scarcity  of  food 
upon,  83;  intermingling  of,  96  sq. ; 
cooperation  among,  114 ;  family  life 


of,  155 ;  horde  organization  of,  159 ; 
mutual  aid  consciously  purposive 
among,  262. 

Blind,  126. 

Bliss,  Edwin  M.,  on  statistics  of  mis¬ 
sions,  191. 

Bo-aire,  295. 

Boas,  Franz,  on  secret  societies  of 
Alaska,  173 ;  on  race  characteristics 
of  half-breeds,  233,  236. 

Bodin,  Jean,  objective  explanation  of 
society,  10. 

Bond,  social,  of  ethnical  and  demotic 
societies,  157 ;  of  Iroquois,  164 ;  be¬ 
fore  the  advent  of  man,  199. 

Bonwick,  James,  on  women’s  primi¬ 
tive  dances,  118,  on  Tasmanian 
dances,  118 ;  monogamy  among  Tas¬ 
manians  temporary,  264 ;  on  family 
relations  of  Tasmanians,  269. 

Bosanquet,  Bernard,  on  social  will, 
152. 

Borboby,  97. 

Bossum  wife,  289  sq. 

Botany,  relation  to  biology,  32. 

Bougie,  C.,  on  sociology,  15. 

Bourke,  R.  G.,  on  secret  societies  of 
Moquis,  173. 

Bowditch  islanders,  boys  quarrelling, 

108  sq. 

Bowles,  Samuel,  140. 

Brain  and  nervous  system  of  animals, 
developed  by  association,  203. 

Brazilian  hordes,  patronymic,  265 ; 
food  supplies  of,  211. 

Brehm,  Alfred,  on  marriage  among 
birds,  154;  social  habits  of  ani¬ 
mals,  204 ;  on  adoption  by  monkeys, 
270. 

Brehon  Law,  294  sq. 

Brett,  W.  H.,  on  beena  marriage  of 
Arawaks,  268;  on  family  relations 
of  Caribs,  269. 

Bribery,  148. 

Brinton,  Daniel  G.,  on  place  of  man’s 
development,  214  sq. ;  on  theory  of 
Mongolian  origin  of  red  men,  219; 
on  place  of  differentiation  of  primi¬ 
tive  white  race,  237. 

Broca,  Paul,  on  the  Neanderthal  skull, 
214 ;  on  method  of  measuring  skulls, 
231 ;  on  mixed  characteristics  of  the 
French,  312 ;  on  offspring  of  mixed 
stocks,  324. 

Brownell,  Jane  Louise,  on  high  fertil- 


INDEX 


447 


ity  and  mental  evolution,  43;  on 
birth-rates,  337. 

Browning,  Robert,  422. 

Bryce,  James,  on  public  opinion  in  the 
United  States,  139. 

Buffaloes,  have  leaders  and  sentinels, 
115 ;  social  mind  among,  135. 

Burchell,  William  J.,  on  Litakum,  168. 

Burgess,  John  W.,  distinction  of  state 
in  constitution  from  state  behind 
constitution,  35;  on  composition  of 
the  state,  176 ;  on  importance  of 
territorial  unity,  322;  on  constitu¬ 
tional  liberty,  396. 

Burke,  Edmund,  nearest  approach  to 
unity  of  explanation  of  society,  10. 

Bushmen,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  effect 
of  scarcity  of  food  upon,  83;  de¬ 
tachment  of  families  from  main 
camp,  90  sq. ;  horde  organization 
of,  159 ;  origin  of,  231 ;  less  sociable 
than  negroes,  392. 

Butterflies,  congregation  of,  92. 

Cain-Aigillne,  295. 

Calvin,  140. 

Camels,  aggregation  of  wild,  80. 

Canaanites,  310. 

Canary  islands,  polyandry  in,  155. 

Cannibalism,  originated  in  starvation, 
113. 

Captives,  adoption  of,  cause  of  inter¬ 
mixture  among  savage  hordes,  98. 

Capture  of  wives.  See  Marriage  by 
capture. 

Carians,  overran  Asia  Minor,  310. 

Caribs,  dramatic  imitations  of,  118; 
family  relations  of,  269. 

Carnivora,  few  in  comparison  with 
social  animals,  81 ;  explanation  of 
their  unsocial  life,  204. 

Cartailhac,  Emile,  on  paleolithic  im¬ 
plements,  214. 

Catbird,  imitates  call  of  robin,  16. 

Categories,  in  the  composition  of  the 
state,  176  sq. 

Catlin,  George,  on  the  Indian’s  man¬ 
ner  of  choosing  medicine,  251. 

Cattle,  know  each  other  by  touch, 
107 ;  expulsion  of  strong  anti-social, 
113 ;  a  source  of  wealth,  294  sq. 

Causation,  initial,  42 ;  marginal,  42 ; 
interpretation  of  human  society  in 
terms  of  natural,  7 ;  sociology,  a 
product  of  natural  law  and  natural, 


417;  factors  of  social,  20;  social, 
57 ;  discovery  of  laws  of  social,  363. 

Cause,  relation  to  effect,  54 sq.;  prob¬ 
lems  of  social,  71,  75. 

Cayugas,  village  grouping  of,  162. 

Celts,  effect  upon  English  race,  311  sq. 

Census,  of  city  populations,  81  sq. 

Ceremony,  of  social  value,  148 ;  prim¬ 
itive  ideas  of,  245. 

Cetaceans,  aggregation  of,  81. 

Ceylon,  polyandry  in,  155. 

Chaldeans,  a  patronymic  state,  297. 

Chance,  next  to  rivalry  the  chief  ele¬ 
ment  in  games,  119. 

Channing,  140. 

Character  of  the  social  population, 
problems  of,  71  sq. 

Characteristics,  the  outcome  of  a  pro¬ 
cess,  14;  of  social  population,  124; 
of  race  differentia,  230  sq.;  of  the 
French  race,  312;  of  the  English 
race,  312  sq. 

Charity  Organization  Society,  191. 

Chemistry,  46,  48,  50. 

Cherokees,  163. 

Chimpanzee,  family  relations  of,  155 ; 
habitat,  Africa,  218. 

Chinese,  polyandry  among,  156 ;  secret 
societies  among,  175  sq. ;  ancestor 
worship  among,  290. 

Choice,  governed  by  considerations  of 
utility  and  of  right,  40 ;  of  occupa¬ 
tions  by  native  born  and  foreign 
born  in  the  United  States,  339  sq. 

Choice,  conscious,  before  the  advent 
of  man,  202  sq. 

Choice,  economic,  governing  produc¬ 
tion,  36. 

Choice,  social,  dependent  on  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  19  sq. ;  evolu¬ 
tion  of,  137 ;  social  values  the 
ground  of,  150;  laws  of  rational, 
401  sq. ;  factor  in  social  causation, 
20;  the  law  of,  one  of  sociology’s 
main  quests,  76. 

Christian  association,  191. 

Church,  influence  on  public  opinion, 
138 ;  part  of  social  constitution, 
171 ;  a  cultural  association,  175 ;  de¬ 
scription  of,  190  sq. 

Cicero,  on  the  highest  law,  330;  on 
jus  natures,  330. 

City,  relation  to  society,  4;  distribu¬ 
tion  of  population  in  the,  81 ;  hetero¬ 
geneity  of  population  in,  99;  dif- 


448 


INDEX 


ferentiated  from  country,  317  sq. ; 
disintegration  of,  350. 

City  Reform  Club,  181. 

Civil  Club,  181. 

Civil  Service  Reform,  progress  of,  152. 

Civil  Service  Reform  Association,  184. 

Civilization,  stages  of,  299  sq. ;  mili¬ 
tary,  religious,  309  sq. ;  liberal-legal, 
324  sq. ;  economic-etliical,  334  sq. ; 
dangers  menacing,  350  sq. 

Clan,  3;  where  found,  62;  an  element 
and  a  stage  in  social  composition, 
73;  result  of  action  of  social  mind 
upon  alliance,  74;  marriage  gener¬ 
ally  between  persons  of  different, 
98 ;  relation  to  tribes  among  Hovas, 
165 ;  definition  and  use,  166  sq. ;  a 
purposive  association,  173 ;  relation 
to  hordes  and  tribes,  258  sq. ;  evolu¬ 
tion  of  the,  270  sq. ;  identified  with 
horde,  273;  relation  to  household 
and  horde,  275 ;  oversight  of  house¬ 
holds,  278 ;  habits  of  trading  of, 
280 ;  regulates  trade,  281 ;  develops 
juridical  tradition,  281 ;  influenced 
by  ancestor  worship,  292  sq.;  con¬ 
verted  into  an  institution,  315. 

Clark,  Francis  E.,  on  Young  People’s 
Society  of  Christian  Endeavour,  191. 

Classes,  of  kinetic  problems,  58  sq. ; 
in  the  population,  problems  of,  71  sq. ; 
vitality,  personality,  social,  124 ;  of 
population,  124  sq. ;  social,  descrip¬ 
tion,  126  sq. ;  of  ethnical  societies,  157 
sq. ;  of  private  associations,  174  sq. 

Classification  of  social  facts,  begin¬ 
nings  of  a  scientific,  5 ;  of  psycho¬ 
logical  phenomena  of  society  apart 
from  those  of  individuals,  23;  of 
social  phenomenon  according  to  De 
Greef ,  29 ;  of  sciences  by  Comte, 
46 ;  according  to  Spencer,  47 ;  of 
sciences,  48  sq.;  cross,  48;  methods 
of,  60  sq. ;  of  sociological  terms,  62; 
of  sociological  material,  63;  of  the 
sciences  for  university  purposes,  67  ; 
of  sociological  problems,  71  sq. ;  of 
population  classes,  124;  scientific 
tradition  the  result  of,  145. 

Cleistlienes,  reorganization  of  society, 
321. 

Climate,  as  determining  habitat  of 
man,  86;  effect  on  immigrants,  91. 

Clique,  value  of  social  type  in  each, 
148. 


Clothing,  element  in  tradition  of  utili¬ 
zation,  141. 

Club  Politique,  181. 

Clubs,  social,  part  of  social  constitu¬ 
tion,  171 ;  political,  181 ;  among  the 
Chinese,  193  sq. 

Cockatoos,  cooperation  of  Australian 
white,  115. 

Codes,  result  of  tradition  and  current 
opinion,  145;  mental  life  of  society 
expressed  in,  147 ;  imposed  by  social 
mind,  152. 

Coercion,  of  individual  mind  by  soci¬ 
ety,  15;  important  part  in  social 
evolution,  387. 

Cohesion,  social,  a  means  of  preserva¬ 
tion,  140 ;  social  value  of,  148 ;  effect 
on  liberty,  149  ;  relation  to  social 
type,  150. 

Collignon,  R.,  on  distribution  of  an¬ 
thropoid  apes,  216. 

Combat,  incidents  of,  important  factor 
in  all  games,  119. 

Combination,  of  imitations,  111;  of 
tradition  and  current  opinion,  145 
sq.;  rhythmical  with  competition, 
398  sq. ;  laws  of,  409  sq. 

Commendatio,  primitive  forms,  293. 

Commerce,  embraced  by  economic  tra¬ 
dition,  142;  weakens  tribal  bonds, 
319. 

Committee  of  One  Hundred,  184;  of 
Seventy, 184. 

Commonwealth,  an  element  and  a 
stage  in  social  composition,  73. 

Commune,  in  social  composition,  168. 

Communication,  effect  on  isolation, 
81 ;  difficult  in  the  Shoshones’  terri¬ 
tory,  84  sq. ;  original  motive  of, 
108 ;  relation  to  association,  109 ; 
an  essential  activity  of  association, 
116,  influence  on  public  opinion, 
138 ;  of  hordes,  157 ;  before  the  ad¬ 
vent  of  man,  199. 

Communism,  in  women,  263 ;  of  Indian 
household,  277 ;  rhythmical  with 
individualism,  399. 

Community,  development  determined 
by  social  choice,  20 ;  civil,  customs, 
laws,  etc.,  in  common  with  savage 
tribes,  61 ;  shows  heterogeneity  of 
population,  98  ;  perpetuated  mainly 
by  birth-rate,  99  sq. ;  each  has  own 
social  mind,  134;  the  standard  of 
living  of,  145 ;  value  of  a  social  type 


INDEX 


449 


in  each  local,  148 ;  in  the  second  class 
of  ethnic  societies,  158 ;  tribal,  gov¬ 
ernmental  organization,  167 ;  social 
constitution  of,  171 ;  reaction  upon 
individual,  326  sq. 

Companionship,  original  meaning  of 
society,  3;  before  the  advent  of 
man,  199;  factor  in  social  evolu¬ 
tion,  201 ;  hordes  come  together  to 
satisfy  desire  of,  274;  importance 
of  craving  for,  376 ;  development  of 
consciousness  of  kind  into  love  of, 
376. 

Competition,  favourable  to  revolu¬ 
tions  and  riots,  136 ;  rhythmical 
with  combination,  399. 

Composition,  of  a  purposive  associa¬ 
tion,  175 ;  of  the  state,  176  sq. ;  of 
economic  associations,  187;  of  pri¬ 
vate  cultural  associations,  190. 

Composition,  Social,  Book  II.,  Chap¬ 
ter  III.,  153  sq. ;  definition  of,  73  ; 
among  animals,  154  sq. ;  effected 
by  social  mind,  169;  psychological 
rather  than  physical,  170;  relation 
to  social  constitution,  174  ;  nearly 
coextensive  with  ethnogenic  sociol¬ 
ogy,  257 ;  differentiation  of  social 
constitution  from,  275 ;  subordinated 
to  social  constitution  in  demogenic 
societies,  299. 

Comradeship,  38. 

Comte,  Auguste,  first  use  of  term 
sociology,  6,  21 ;  theory  of  sociol¬ 
ogy,  6;  use  of  terms  social  statics 
and  social  dynamics,  9,  56;  theory 
of  possible  reorganization  of  society, 
10;  view  of  political  economy,  juris¬ 
prudence,  theory  of  state,  etc.,  28; 
adopted  term  biology,  32;  classifi¬ 
cation  of  sciences,  46;  philosophy  of 
history,  303  sq. ;  influence  of  youth 
a  cause  of  progress,  336 ;  on  inter¬ 
pretation  of  progress,  358;  sociology 
a  descriptive  science,  419. 

Concentration,  caused  by  emigration, 

Concepts,  222  sq.  [91. 

Conceptual  thought,  traditions  of, 
144  sq. 

Concourse,  developed  into  intercourse, 
71 ;  beginnings  in  animal  society,  73. 

Concrete  sciences,  47  sq. 

Conditions,  favourable  to  a  hardy  pop¬ 
ulation,  88;  social  type  the  end  of 
social,  150. 

2a 


Condorcet,  Marie  Jean  Antoine,  law  ol 
history  merely  intellectual,  304. 

Conduct,  social,  consciousness  of  kind 
acts  upon,  18;  relation  to  social 
value,  401. 

Conestogas,  163. 

Confederation,  of  Iroquois  tribes,  163; 
evolution  of  the,  284  sq. ;  patro¬ 
nymic,  286;  entered  on  career  of 
migration  and  conquest,  309;  con¬ 
verted  into  an  institution,  315. 

Confirmation,  deductive,  last  investi¬ 
gation  of  sociology,  biology,  and 
psychology,  54. 

Conflict,  as  elementary  social  phenom¬ 
enon,  14  ;  a  cause  of  aggregation,  19 ; 
among  differentiated  forms  of  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  22 ;  social  inter¬ 
course  a  mode  of,  100 ;  special  forms 
which  enter  into  association,  101; 
primary  and  secondary,  101 ;  as  im¬ 
pact  and  attack,  102;  analysis,  102 
sq. ;  influences  modifying,  103 ;  mod¬ 
ified  by  imitation,  109 ;  of  imitations, 
111  sq. ;  before  the  advent  of  man, 
199;  primary,  when  possible,  102; 
ceases  among  individuals  of  nearly 
equal  strength,  123. 

Congo  tribes,  metronymic,  163. 

Congregation.  See  Aggregation,  con¬ 
gregate. 

Conquest,  the  career  of  the  patro¬ 
nymic  tribal  confederacy,  309;  ef¬ 
fect  of,  309  sq. ;  dreams  of  univer¬ 
sal,  323. 

Consanguinity,  theories  of,  263. 

Consciousness  of  kind,  the  elementary 
subjective  fact,  17 ;  analysis,  17  sq. ; 
distinguishes  animate  from  inani¬ 
mate,  18 ;  undergoes  integration  and 
differentiation,  22 ;  developed  by  in¬ 
tercourse,  71 ;  determining  the  social 
classes,  71  sq.,  126  sq. ;  basis  created 
by  imitation,  103;  relation  to  dis¬ 
criminations  of  differences  of  kind, 
104 ;  proof  of  importance  of,  107 ;  ef¬ 
fect  of  imitation  upon,  112;  relation 
to  vitality  classes,  125 ;  psychological 
basis  of  social  phenomena,  147 ;  valu¬ 
ation  of  possessions  and  proprieties  a 
manifestation  of,  149 ;  as  a  bond  of 
union,  169,  180;  influence  on  politi¬ 
cal  parties,  183;  influence  on  eco¬ 
nomic  organization,  186  sq. ;  influ¬ 
ence  on  cultural  associations,  190 ; 


450 


INDEX 


the  primary  factor  in  human  nature, 
225 ;  developed  by  reaction  of  speech 
upon  desire,  227  sq. ;  limits  the  con¬ 
ception  of  immunity  of  life,  242 ;  in 
relation  to  the  totem,  252 ;  progress 
the  expansion  of,  359 ;  the  origin  of 
true  association,  376. 

Consciousness,  social,  problems  of,  72 ; 
definition  of,  134;  integration  of 
elements  in,  137 ;  forms  judgments, 
138 ;  before  the  advent  of  man,  199. 

Conscious  states,  expression  of,  by 
means  of  attitude,  movement,  and 
utterance,  108. 

Conservatism,  views  social  possessions 
as  ends  in  themselves,  150 ;  reaction 
upon  individual,  326  sq. 

Conservative  party,  counterpart  of 
Democratic  party,  183. 

Conservatives  Club,  181. 

Constitution,  of  a  purposive  asso¬ 
ciation,  175 ;  of  the  state,  177 ;  of 
political  associations,  180  sq. ; 
of  economic  associations,  187  sq. ; 
of  cultural  associations,  190. 

Constitution,  Social,  Book  II.,  Chapter 
IV.,  171  sq. ;  definition  of,  73,  171; 
membership  in,  171 ;  in  tribal  socie¬ 
ties,  172  sq. ;  in  civil  societies,  174 
sq. ;  the  opposite  of  the  social  com¬ 
position,  196  ;  evolution  of,  275  ; 
social  composition  of  demogenic 
societies  subordinated  to,  299. 

Constitutional  law,  evolution  of,  331. 

Consumers’  goods,  relation  to  pro¬ 
ducers’  goods,  150. 

Consumption  of  wealth,  Francis  A. 
Walker’s  definition  of,  36. 

Contact,  a  cause  of  aggregation,  19; 
necessary  to  evolution  of  society, 
79 ;  influence  on  public  opinion,  138 ; 
before  the  advent  of  man,  199. 

Contract,  a  distinctive  social  fact,  14 ; 
imitation  antecedent  to,  15 ;  relation 
to  consciousness  of  kind,  18;  con¬ 
ceived  as  basis  of  social  relations, 
334;  social,  relation  to  secondary 
congregation,  94;  theory  of  social, 
358  sq. 

Conventionality,  74. 

Converse,  the  original  meaning  of 
society,  3 ;  develops  government  and 
obedience,  4. 

Cook,  Waldo  M.,  murder  belongs  to 
new  or  decaying  towns,  349. 


Cooperation,  often  no  trace  in  social 
intercourse,  14;  cause  of  good  feel¬ 
ing  among  men,  38 ;  problems  of,  71 ; 
analysis,  114  sq. ;  of  white  cockatoos, 
115 ;  element  in  tradition  of  utiliza¬ 
tion,  141 ;  a  social  bond  in  demotic 
society,  157 ;  of  animals  not  a  social 
constitution,  172;  action  upon  en¬ 
vironment,  201 ;  developed  by  asso¬ 
ciation,  204;  periodic  festivity  lays 
a  foundation  for,  261 ;  made  possible 
by  intercourse,  262 ;  in  form  of  bee, 
278. 

Coordination,  developed  with  subordi¬ 
nation,  115;  more  developed  among 
men  than  animals,  116 ;  among  sav¬ 
ages,  116 ;  through  rational  compre¬ 
hension,  284;  of  social  activity,  388; 
types  of  conscious,  388  sq. ;  through 
leadership,  389 ;  relation  to  intimacy 
and  definiteness,  391  sq. 

Corn  laws,  151. 

Corporations,  public,  177, 187  sq. 

Cost,  subjective,  40,  43,  44 ;  primitive 
ideas  of,  240. 

Costumes,  of  social  value,  148. 

Coues,  Elliot,  on  mutual  aid  among 

Council  of  the  tribe,  283.  [birds,  114. 

Cournot,  Augustin,  abstract  analysis 
of  economy,  12. 

Courtney,  Leonard,  on  distribution  of 
humanity,  369. 

Cow-nobleman,  295  sq. 

Cranes,  cooperation  among,  115;  pro¬ 
tected  by  social  habits,  205. 

Crantz,  David,  Eskimo  patronymic, 
265. 

Crazes,  mode  imitations,  112 ;  example 
of  imitative  integration  of  feeling, 
135. 

Credit,  valued  for  its  own  sake,  150 ; 
modern  industry  and  commerce  de¬ 
pendent  on,  358. 

Creeds,  liberalizing  of,  19;  result  of 
tradition  and  current  opinion,  145 
sq. ;  mental  life  of  society  expressed 
in,  147 ;  imposed  by  social  mind,  152. 

Crime,  germ  in  non-social  class,  127 ; 
study  of,  130 ;  where  prevalent,  349. 

Criminal  class,  72, 127  sq. 

Criminality,  129,  135;  causes  of  un¬ 
reasoning  social  impulse  the  same 
as  those  of,  136. 

Criminals,  compose  the  anti-social 
class,  127 ;  animals  have  their,  128; 


INDEX 


451 


aggregation  of,  128;  of  the  West, 
128  sq. 

Crippled,  126. 

Crowds,  subject  to  swift  contagion  of 
feeling,  134,  136 ;  devoid  of  respon¬ 
sibility,  136 ;  mobility  of,  137 ;  social 
mind  of,  150  sq. 

Crowell,  John  F.,  use  of  terms  for 
qualities  of  social  nature  and  stages 
of  social  development,  74. 

Crows,  a  true  tribe,  162. 

Crows,  aggregation  conditioned  by  en¬ 
vironment,  82;  expulsioni  of  anti¬ 
social,  113. 

Ctenophores,  aggregation  influenced 
by  external  conditions,  82. 

Culture,  the  chief  object  of  social 
clubs,  193;  of  primitive  men,  245; 
divisions  of,  253 ;  races,  254. 

Curiosity  stimulated  by  speech,  226  sq. 

Curr,  Edward  M.,  on  cooperation  of 
Australian  Blackfellows,  114;  on 
the  kohongo  korroboree,  120. 

Curtis,  George  William,  140. 

Cushing,  Frank,  on  secret  societies  of 
Zuni,  173. 

Custom-imitations,  112. 

Customs  common  to  savage  tribej  and 
civil  communities,  61. 

Cuvier,  static  biology  of,  59. 

Dakotahs,  lived  near  Algonquins,  84; 
a  true  tribe,  162 ;  secret  societies  of, 
173. 

Damaras,  polyandry  among,  156 ;  met¬ 
ronymic,  163 ;  organization  like  that 
of  Santals,  166 ;  tribal  organization 
of,  167. 

Dances,  important  part  of  social  ac¬ 
tivity  in  savage  life,  118 ;  influence 
on  social  feeling,  120  sq. 

Danes,  peculiarities  of  type,  231 ;  effect 
of,  on  English  race,  311  sq. 

Darmesteter,  James,  race  imaginary, 
254. 

Darwin,  Charles  R.,  suggestions  of 
evolutionist  account  of  social  rela¬ 
tions,  7 ;  kinetic  biology  of,  59 ;  on 
horde  organization  of  the  Fuegians, 
159 ;  on  protection  afforded  by  swift¬ 
ness,  protective  colours,  etc.,  206 ; 
man’s  ancestor  a  social  animal,  208 ; 
on  importance  of  speech,  209;  on 
place  and  date  of  transition  from 
brute  to  man,  212 ;  on  man’s  first 


habitat,  213  sq. ;  on  patriarchal  the¬ 
ory,  265 ;  on  adoption  by  monkeys, 
270;  jurists  before,  418. 

Dawkins,  William  B.,  on  paleolithic 
implements,  214. 

Deaf  and  dumb,  126. 

Death-rate,  relation  to  vitality,  88  sq. ; 
ratio  to  birth-rate  the  index  of  the 
vitality  classes,  125;  dependent  on 
degree  of  prosperity,  368. 

Deduction,  53  sq. 

Deer,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Defective  class,  125  sq. 

Defence,  cause  of  federation  of  tribes, 
169 ;  state  has  functions  of,  178 ; 
economic,  a  function  of  an  economic 
association,  189;  a  common  interest 
of  primitive  men,  244. 

Degenerate,  discipline  of  the,  353  sq. 

Degeneration,  causes  end  of  line  of 
descent,  95;  violence  of  social  out¬ 
breaks  dependent  on  proportion  of, 
135 ;  in  the  population,  348  sq. ;  in 
the  social  composition,  350;  in  the 
social  constitution,  350  sq. ;  cure  for, 
352. 

De  Greef,  Guillaume,  on  recognition 
of  social  will,  11 ;  theory  of  ele¬ 
mentary  social  phenomena,  14 ;  plea 
for  chairs  and  faculties  of  sociology, 
29;  on  difference  between  feeling 
and  perception,  138;  on  progress, 
358. 

Delawares,  162. 

Deliberation,  of  social  mind,  150  sq., 
169. 

Democracy,  development  of,  345  sq. 

Democratic  party,  180  sq. 

Demogenic  association,  Book  III., 
Chapter  IV.,  299  sq. 

Demogenic  sociology,  definition,  74. 

Demotic  composition,  caused  by  the 
development  of  genetic  with  congre¬ 
gate  aggregation,  96;  in  modern 
civil  communities  created  by  cease¬ 
less  migration,  98 ;  necessary  to  true 
natural  society,  100. 

Demotic  society,  definition  of,  157 ; 
description  of,  168  sq. 

Density  of  population  favourable  to 
revolutions  and  riots,  136. 

Descent,  of  man,  208  sq. ;  reckoned 
through  mothers,  265  sq. ;  through 
fathers,  265  sq. 

Description,  54  sq.,  70  sq. 


452 


INDEX 


Desertion,  common  among  savages, 
155. 

Desire,  treated  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  economist,  36  sq.;  in  combina¬ 
tion  with  intellectual  products  of 
the  social  mind,  147  ;  the  secondary 
factor  in  human  naturo,  225 ;  rela¬ 
tion  to  speech,  226  sq.;  relation  to 
choice,  401  sq. 

Determination,  psychical,  381  sq. 

Dewey,  Davis  R.,  on  statistics  of  sui¬ 
cide,  348. 

Dewey,  John,  on  the  self,  378. 

Difference,  impressions  of,  108. 

Differentiation,  undergone  by  society, 
9 ;  of  consciousness  of  kind,  22 ;  of 
scientific  thought,  23 ;  from  and  of, 
26  sq. ;  of  social  sciences  in  relation 
to  sociology,  40,  51 ;  association  an 
agent  of,  43 ;  attention  necessary  to, 
63  sq. ;  in  evolution  the  result  of 
secondary  conflict,  101 ;  brought 
about  by  imitation,  112 ;  antecedents 
of  social,  116;  of  a  population  into 
classes,  124 ;  of  personality  and 
sociality,  126 ;  of  traditions,  141 ;  of 
manufactures  and  commerce  from 
household  industry,  142;  of  hordes 
into  exogamous  kindreds,  160;  of 
the  Indian  tribe,  161 ;  before  the 
advent  of  man,  199 ;  of  animal  types 
influenced  by  association,  199  sq.; 
of  mankind,  230;  of  mankind  into 
culture  divisions,  253 ;  of  social  con¬ 
stitution  from  social  composition, 
275,  316 ;  of  city  from  country,  317 ; 
of  social  constitution,  331 ;  of  urban 
from  rural  population,  346  sq. ;  the 
result  of  unlike  exposure  to  like 
forces,  371 ;  of  man’s  conscious  life 
from  that  of  lower  animals,  381. 

Discovery,  a  prime  factor  in  economic 
production,  241. 

Discrimination,  of  the  amoeba,  106 ; 
of  the  earthworm,  106  sq. ;  conse¬ 
quences  of  social,  126;  a  mental 
consequence  of  association,  200. 

Discussion,  right  to  initiate  determines 
the  existence  of  public  opinion,  138. 

Dispersion  of  individuals  and  groups, 
91. 

Dissociation,  limiting  association, 
392  sq. 

Division  of  labour,  true  type  of  ethi¬ 
cal  life,  8;  distinguishing  mark  of 


society,  14 ;  imitation  antecedent  to, 
15 ;  scientific,  51 ;  effects  a  combina¬ 
tion  of  purposive  associations,  172 ; 
before  the  advent  of  man,  199; 
foundation  of,  278 ;  between  city  and 
country,  318 ;  relation  to  individual 
life,  397. 

Division  of  social  functions  between 
country  and  town,  346  sq. 

Divorce,  desire  for,  350;  common 
among  savages,  155;  frequence  of, 
156  sq. 

Dogs,  wild,  hunt  together,  82  sq. ; 
know  each  other  by  touch,  107. 

Domestication  of  animals,  made  pos¬ 
sible  by  their  social  nature,  207 ; 
supplies  motive  for  claiming  sons, 
288. 

Donkeys,  aggregation  of  wild,  80. 

Donovan,  J.,  on  origin  of  speech, 
224  sq. 

Doolittle,  Justus,  on  clubs  in  China, 
193  sq. 

Dorsey,  J.  O.,  on  secret  societies  of 
Dakotahs,  173;  trade  between  clans 
of  one  tribe,  280. 

Dragon-flies,  congregation  of,  92. 

Dreams,  effect  of,  on  the  savage  mind, 
247. 

Drinking,  influence  on  social  feeling, 
119  sq. 

Drunkenness,  prevalence  of,  119; 
where  prevalent,  349. 

Drury,  Robert,  on  tribal  organization 
of  Hovas,  165. 

Dryopithecus,  212  sq. 

Dubois,  Eug.,  on  the  Pithecanthropus 
erectus,  217. 

Ducks,  eider,  mutual  aid  among,  114. 

Dugmore,  on  wealth  among  Kaffirs, 
294. 

Dumont,  A.,  on  birth-rates,  337. 

Durkheim,  ^mile,  theory  of  elemen¬ 
tary  social  phenomena,  15 ;  sugges¬ 
tions  on  scientific  observation  of 
social  facts,  60 ;  on  products  of  opin¬ 
ion  and  tradition,  146  sq. 

Dyaks,  beena  marriage  among,  268. 

Dynamic  theory,  of  any  concrete  sci¬ 
ence  of  evolutionary  phenomena, 
60. 

Dynamics,  social,  Comte’s  definition 
compared  with  Spencer’s,  9 ;  Comte’s, 
56 ;  absurd  use  of  term,  57. 

Dynamics,  explanation  of,  57  sq. 


INDEX 


453 


Earthworm,  discrimination  of  the, 
106  sq. 

Echo,  how  regarded  by  savages,  144, 
248. 

Economic  activity,  organized  in  the 
household,  276  sq. 

Economic  prosperity,  aim  of  the  third 
stage  of  progress,  302. 

Economic  thought,  responsible  for  no¬ 
tion  that  mutual  aid  and  division  of 
labour  are  distinguishing  marks  of 
society,  14. 

Economic  tradition,  primary,  141 ; 
analysis,  141  sq. ;  combined  with 
current  opinion,  145. 

Economics,  postulates  in  human  de¬ 
sires,  38;  relation  to  sociology,  45, 
50,  51 ;  abstract,  40,  45 ;  economic 
sciences,  67  sq. 

Economy,  political.  See  Political 
Economy. 

Education,  necessary  to  public  opin¬ 
ion,  139 ;  a  mode  of  effort,  149 ;  asso¬ 
ciations  for,  175  ;  conditioned  by 
density  of  population,  367. 

Egypt,  metronomy  the  law  of,  165 ;  a 
patronymic  state,  297 ;  a  demogenic 
commonwealth,  299;  did  not  get 
beyond  first  stage  of  progress,  299, 
301. 

Elements  of  social  composition,  73. 

Elephants,  aggregation  of,  80 ;  expul¬ 
sion  of  strong  anti-social,  113;  have 
leaders  and  sentinels,  115;  social 
mind  among,  135. 

Elk,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Ellis,  Havelock,  on  criminals,  127. 

Ellis,  William,  Tahitians  and  Hovas 
metronymic,  163 ;  on  tribal  organiza¬ 
tion  of  Hovas,  165. 

Embezzlement,  where  prevalent,  349. 

Emigration,  causing  concentration, 
91;  among  genetic  and  congregate 
aggregations,  95 ;  of  individuals  cre¬ 
ates  a  demotic  composition  in  mod¬ 
ern  civil  communities,  98  sq. 

Employer  and  employed,  187. 

Encounter,  a  mode  of  conflict,  104 ;  of 
Bowditch  island  boys,  108. 

Endogamy,  among  Ostyaks  and  Hot¬ 
tentots,  167. 

Energy,  expenditure  of,  takes  form  of 
play  or  festivity,  116  sq. ;  redistri¬ 
bution  of,  365;  definition  of  social, 
365  sq. 


England,  a  demogenic  state,  299;  pro¬ 
gressiveness  of,  326,  329. 

English,  race  characteristics  of,  312; 
less  sociable  than  Irish  and  Ger¬ 
mans,  392. 

English  Poor  Law,  129. 

Environment,  adjustment  of  organism 
to,  7 ;  of  sentiency,  24 ;  relation  to 
aggregation,  82  sq. ;  relation  to 
population,  88 ;  effect  of,  on  charac¬ 
teristics,  91  sq. ;  association  more 
important  than,  121  ;  possibility 
of  scientific  thought  about,  122  ; 
changed  by  mutual  aid,  201  sq. ; 
effect  on  family  type,  265  sq. ;  soci¬ 
ety  must  adjust  itself  to,  413. 

Epicureanism,  406. 

Epidemic,  excitable  sanguine  popula¬ 
tions  more  subject  than  others  to, 
135. 

Epileptic,  126. 

Equality,  of  social  value,  149. 

Equilibration  of  energy,  the  cause  of 
changes  in  society,  9. 

Equilibrium,  laws  of,  56  sq. ;  between 
static  and  kinetic  tendencies,  60  ; 
of  animate  nature  maintained  by 
detachment  of  bands  from  main 
aggregation,  90  sq. ;  social  activities 
tend  to,  374. 

Eries,  163. 

Erskine,  John  E.,  Tongans  metro¬ 
nymic,  163. 

Eskimo,  dances  of,  118 ;  family  life  of, 
155,  268  sq. ;  origin  of,  231 ;  race 
characteristics  of,  232  sq. ;  one  of  the 
oldest  living  races,  237 ;  intercourse 
of,  261 ;  patronymic,  265  ;  more 
sociable  than  Indians,  392. 

Espinas,  Alfred,  on  aggregation  of 
sea-creatures,  82. 

Esteem,  subjective  value  a  degree  of, 
402  sq. 

Estimates,  social,  147. 

Ethical  consciousness,  necessary  re¬ 
forms  by,  352  sq. 

Ethics,  abstract,  40,  45,  50,  51 ;  re¬ 
lation  to  conception  of  goodness, 
403. 

Ethnical  group,  conflicts  of,  14;  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  underlies,  18. 

Ethnical  societies,  definition  of,  157 ; 
composition  of,  157 ;  classes  of,  157  sq. 

Ethnogenic  association,  Book  III., 
Chapter  II.,  256  sq. ;  definition  of,  74 


454 


INDEX 


Ethnology,  61,  158. 

Etruscans,  overrun  by  Latins  and 
Sabines,  310. 

Eupatridse,  320. 

Euripides,  on  worship  of  the  dead, 

*  291. 

Evans,  John,  on  paleolithic  imple¬ 
ments,  214. 

Evolution,  social,  Novicow’s  theory 
of,  14 ;  first  principles  of,  40 ;  ante¬ 
cedent  to  refinements  of  utility,  44 ; 
problems  of,  71 ;  a  result  of  aggre¬ 
gation,  87 ;  begun  in  primary  con¬ 
flict,  completed  in  secondary,  101; 
viewed  in  ethnogenic  stages,  260  sq. ; 
highly  compound,  373. 

Evolution,  universal,  Spencer’s  for¬ 
mula  of,  9. 

Evolutionist  explanations  of  the  natu¬ 
ral  world,  7. 

Exchange,  consumer’s  goods  the  end 
of,  150. 

Exogamy,  among  Australian  hordes, 
160 ;  in  the  Indian  tribe,  161 ;  of 
kindred  groups  of  Santals,  166 ;  re¬ 
lation  to  origin  of  the  tribe,  258  sq. ; 
of  hordes,  269. 

Expediency,  conspicuous  factor  in  tol¬ 
eration  and  justice,  114. 

Explanation,  sociological.  See  Inter¬ 
pretation. 

Exposure,  influence  on  aggregation, 
82. 

Facts,  social,  psychical  in  nature,  3; 
beginnings  of  a  scientific  observa¬ 
tion  and  classification  of,  5. 

Fads,  mode-imitations,  112;  sympa¬ 
thetic  integration  of  feeling  seen 
in,  135. 

Faiths,  do  not  prevent  normal  inter¬ 
mingling,  98;  result  of  tradition 
and  current  opinion,  145;  mental 
life  of  society  expressed  in,  147 ; 
imposed  by  social  mind,  152. 

Falcons,  follow  black  squirrels,  83. 

Falkner,  Roland,  P.,  on  corporations, 
188. 

Fallow  deer,  aggregation  of,  80 ;  watch¬ 
fulness  for  safety  of  herds,  115. 

Family,  found  in  animal  as  well  as  in 
human  societies,  61  sq.;  organiza¬ 
tion  of,  compared  with  other  phe¬ 
nomena,  62 ;  an  element  and  a  stage 
in  social  composition,  73 ;  origin  of, 


74;  simplest  form  of  genetic  aggre^ 
gation  the  natural,  89;  not  prop¬ 
erly  a  society  unless  including 
adopted  members,  100 ;  each  values 
its  social  type,  148 ;  members  more 
unlike  than  two  families  of  the  same 
type,  153;  the  unit  of  demotic  soci¬ 
ety,  168 ;  relation  to  household,  173, 
275;  earliest  forms  of  the  human, 
263  sq. ;  character  of  the  primitive 
human,  264;  patronymic,  265 ;  pair¬ 
ing,  155,  268;  forms  of,  154  sq.,  276; 
religious-proprietary,  290  sq.;  influ¬ 
enced  by  ancestor  worship,  291  sq. ; 
converted  into  an  institution,  315 ; 
liberalism  weakens  authority  of,  333 ; 
religious-proprietary  developed  into 
romantic,  333 ;  ethical,  352;  romantic 
distinguished  from  ethical,  352 ;  later 
steps  in  the  evolution  of,  414  sq. 

Family  groups,  155. 

Family  relations,  before  the  advent  of 
man,  199;  in  savage  life,  266  sq. 

Fashions,  a  mode  imitation,  112. 

Fear,  influence  on  hordes,  157. 

Feasts,  important  part  of  the  social 
activity  in  savage  life,  118. 

Federal  party,  183. 

Federal  state,  impaired  by  liberalism, 
333  sq. 

Feeling,  social  integration  of,  134  sq. ; 
opposed  to  function,  58;  inter¬ 

changed  by  means  of  language,  71 ; 
crowds  subject  to  a  swift  contagion 
of,  136;  conspicuous  factor  in  tol¬ 
eration  and  justice,  114;  social, 
aroused  by  gambling  and  drinking, 
120  sq. ;  in  relation  to  social  cohe¬ 
sion,  148. 

Fere,  Charles,  on  criminals,  127. 

Ferrero,  G.,  on  position  of  woman, 
265. 

Fertility  of  mixed  races,  324  sq. 

Festivity,  secondary  form  of  expendi¬ 
ture  of  energy,  116;  a  means  of 
social  education,  117  sq. ;  a  strong 
social  bond,  120;  distinguished  from 
eating,  120 ;  converted  language  into 
speech,  222;  means  of  bringing 
hordes  together,  261. 

Feudalism  in  patronymic  tribe,  293  sq. 

Fewkes,  Walter,  on  secret  societies  of 
the  Zuni,  173. 

Fielding,  H.,  on  relation  of  sexes  in 
pairing  family,  268. 


INDEX 


455 


Fijians,  less  sociable  than  Tahitians 
and  Samoans,  392. 

Finns,  origin  of,  231 ;  one  of  the  oldest 
living  races,  237. 

Fish,  means  of  subsistence,  87 ;  partly 
genetic  aggregation,  89;  congrega¬ 
tion  of,  92. 

Fiske,  John,  sociology  not  an  abstract 
science,  39;  on  doctrine  of  prolon¬ 
gation  of  infancy,  229 ;  on  interpre¬ 
tation  of  progress,  358;  on  rela¬ 
tion  of  individual  to  government, 
395. 

Fletcher,  Alice,  on  secret  societies  of 
Dakotahs,  173. 

Flower,  W.  H.,  on  three  original  types 
of  mankind,  231. 

Folk,  an  element  and  a  state  in  social 
composition,  73;  evolution  of  the, 
74 ;  definition  of,  158  sq. ;  examples 
of  a  metronymic,  163 ;  evolution  of 
the  metronymic,  284. 

Food,  inability  of  immigrants  to  adapt 
themselves  to  new  conditions  of, 
91;  in  tradition  of  utilization,  141; 
distribution  of,  determining  extent 
of  aggregation,  82  sq. 

Food  supply,  one  of  the  first  causes  of 
social  aggregation,  19 ;  influence  on 
hordes,  157 ;  of  the  social  animal 
better  than  that  of  the  non-social 
animal,  201 ;  conditioned  aggrega¬ 
tion  among  prehistoric  men,  210 sq.  ; 
the  only  limit  of  hospitality,  261; 
causes  closer  proximity,  273;  a  so¬ 
cial  bond, 363. 

Force,  original  element  in  toleration 
and  justice,  114 ;  postulate  of  phys¬ 
ical  philosophy  the  persistence  of, 
364. 

Forces,  social,  Spencer’s  definition  of 
social  statics  and,  9;  problems  of 
interplay  of,  75. 

Foreign  born,  intermingling  with  na¬ 
tive  born,  98  sq. ;  vitality  compared 
with  that  of  native  born,  340 ;  choice 
of  occupations,  339. 

Forgery,  where  prevalent,  349. 

Fouillee,  Alfred,  attempt  to  show 
identity  of  physical  and  volitional 
phenomena,  11 ;  on  the  state  and 
private  associations,  174 ;  on  doc¬ 
trine  of  social  contract,  358. 

Fourier,  Charles,  communistic  schemes 
since,  391. 


Foxes,  aggregations  of  polar,  81;  fol¬ 
low  black  squirrels,  83. 

France,  a  demogenic  state,  299. 

Franchise,  extension  of,  345. 

Franks,  a  patronymic  state,  297. 

Fraternal  societies,  description,  193 
sq. 

Fraternity,  149. 

Frazer,  James  G.,  on  totemism,  158; 
on  Indian’s  manner  of  choosing 
medicine,  251;  on  totem  chosen  by 
luck,  251;  tribal  communities  met¬ 
ronymic,  263. 

Free  Masons,  193. 

Free  Soil  party,  184. 

French,  race  characteristics  of,  312. 

French  Canadians,  modifiable,  326, 
choice  of  occupations,  339. 

French  Revolution,  301. 

Fruits,  edible,  primary  means  of  sub¬ 
sistence,  87. 

Fuegians,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  effect 
of  food  supply  upon,  83;  detach¬ 
ment  of  families  from  main  camp, 
90  sq.;  horde  organization  of,  159; 
patronymic,  265. 

Fuidhuirs,  295  sq. 

Function,  of  society  the  evolution  of 
personality,  306,  420  sq. 

Functional  association,  172 ;  before 
the  advent  of  man,  199. 

Function,  social,  social  dynamics  con¬ 
founded  with,  57 ;  each  purposive 
association  has  a,  172. 

Functions,  comparison  of,  63;  of  the 
Iroquois  clan,  173;  of  the  state:  eco¬ 
nomic,  178  sq.;  of  the  state:  cul¬ 
tural,  179;  of  political  associations, 
185;  of  private  economic  associa¬ 
tions,  189;  of  cultural  associations, 
190;  of  the  state,  democratic  con¬ 
ception  of,  345  sq. 

Fustel  de  Coulanges,  on  Aryan  wor¬ 
ship  of  the  dead,  291 ;  on  differen¬ 
tiation  of  city,  317 ;  on  position  of 
land  cultivators  in  village  commu¬ 
nity,  317. 

Gaius,  on  jus  gentium  and  ideal  law, 
330. 

Galton,  Francis,  on  personality 
classes,  125 ;  mixed  races  revert  to 
parent  types,  233. 

Gambling,  action  on  social  feelings, 
119  sq. ;  among  backwoodsmen,  129. 


456 


INDEX 


Games,  savage  and  civilized,  118  sq. 

Gannet,  Henry,  on  statistics  of  banks, 

188. 

Gardiner,  Edward,  on  Maupas’  ex¬ 
periments  with  cultures  of  infu¬ 
soria,  95  sq. 

Gardner,  Percy,  on  tribes  which  over¬ 
ran  Asia  Minor,  310. 

Garofalo,  R.,  on  criminals,  127. 

Gaudry,  J.  E.,  on  the  Dryopithecus, 
214. 

Gazelles,  aggregation  of,  80;  watch¬ 
fulness  for  safety  of  herds,  115; 
family  relations  of,  154. 

Generalization,  of  social  facts,  begin¬ 
nings  of  true,  5 ;  a  method  of  soci¬ 
ology,  53  sq. ;  methods  of,  60  sq. ; 
methods  of  empirical,  64  sq. ;  de¬ 
veloped  by  association,  121  sq.; 
derived  from  description  of  social 
constitution,  194  sq. ;  animals,  power 
of,  222  sq. ;  of  degree  of  esteem  and 
subjective  value,  402  sq. 

Genetic  aggregation.  See  Aggrega¬ 
tion,  genetic. 

Genetic  relationships,  become  com¬ 
plicated  as  a  result  of  festivity, 
261. 

Gens,  a  more  special  term  than  clan, 
167. 

Geography,  in  early  tertiary  period, 
215  sq. 

Geology,  59. 

Gerland,  Georg,  atlas,  85. 

Germanic  nations,  stages  of  progress 
in,  301  sq. 

Germanic  tribes,  invasion  of  England 
by,  93. 

Germans,  metronymy  among,  165;  feu¬ 
dalism  among,  296 ;  a  patronymic 
state,  297 ;  a  demogenic  state,  299; 
stages  of  progress  among,  301  sq.; 
a  conquering  people,  309;  progres¬ 
siveness  of,  326 ;  more  sociable  than 
English,  392. 

Germans,  American,  inability  of  adap¬ 
tation  to  new  conditions  of  life,  91 ; 
generally  republican,  338 ;  choice  of 
occupations  among,  339;  segrega¬ 
tion  of,  372. 

Gifts,  element  in  tradition  of  utiliza¬ 
tion,  141 ;  the  origin  of  barter,  280. 

Ghosts,  religious  tradition  in  relation 
to,  144;  primitive  ideas  of,  249  sq. 

Gliddou.  See  Nott,  J.  C. 


Goats,  aggregation  of  wild,  80. 

Gods,  religious  tradition  in  relation 
to,  144 ;  of  social  value,  148. 

Gomme,  G.  L.,  on  position  of  the  land 
cultivators  in  village  community, 
317. 

Gooch,  William  D.,  on  paleolithic  im¬ 
plements,  218. 

Good  Government  Clubs,  184. 

Goodness,  definition  of,  402;  elements 
and  criteria  of,  403  sq. 

Goods,  production  of,  a  function  of 
economic  association,  189. 

Gorilla,  family  relations  of,  155 ;  pres¬ 
ent  habitat  of,  218. 

Gossen,  H.  H.,  theory  of  subjective 
utility,  41. 

Government,  does  not  prevent  normal 
intermingling,  98;  the  first  positive 
institution,  314. 

Guinea  negroes,  bossum  wife  among, 
289  sq. 

Gummere,  Francis  B.,  on  origin  of  the 
ballad,  224. 

Gumplowicz,  Ludwig,  theory  of  ele¬ 
mentary  social  phenomena,  14;  re¬ 
sume  of  polygenism,  221 ;  on  origin 
of  tribal  societies,  298;  conquest 
necessary  to  the  organization  of 
community,  316. 

Guyau,  Marie  Jean,  on  survival  of 
embrace,  kiss,  etc.,  107 ;  on  mental 
plasticity,  325 ;  idea  of  progress,  358 ; 
on  the  philosophy  of  education,  380; 
sociological  interpretation  of  art, 
religion,  etc.,  421. 

Greeks,  metronymy  among,  165;  feu¬ 
dalism  among,  296  ;  a  patronymic 
state,  297  ;  stages  of  civilization 
among,  299  sq. ;  a  conquering  people, 
309. 

Greenback  party,  184. 

Greenhalge,  Wentworth,  on  the  village 
grouping  of  the  Mohawks,  162  sq. 

Greenlanders.  See  Eskimo. 

Grey,  George,  on  habits  of  Australian 
hordes,  84  ;  on  savage  names,  250. 

Grimm,  law  of,  a  law  of  imitation,  111. 

Grotius,  Hugo,  subjective  explanation 
of  society,  10. 

Group,  social,  made  stable  by  organi¬ 
zation,  4;  normally  autogenous,  99; 
composition  and  aggregation  of,  153. 

Groupings,  of  conscious  individuals, 
3;  criticism  of,  61;  of  population 


INDEX 


457 


into  tribes  and  nations,  72;  estab¬ 
lishment  of,  154. 

Growth,  social,  sociology  an  attempt 
to  account  for,  8 ;  problems  of,  71. 

Habits,  social,  common  to  animals  and 
to  men,  61 ;  evolved  in  play-day  of 
childhood,  117 ;  of  cranes  insure 
long  life,  205. 

Hadley,  Arthur  T.,  on  differentiation 
of  abstract  from  concrete  sciences, 
50 ;  review  of  Nitti,  337. 

Haeckel,  E.  H.,  suggestions  of  evolu¬ 
tionist  account  of  social  relations,  7  ; 
on  the  equatorial,  continent,  213. 

Hallucinations,  crowds  subject  to,  136. 

Hamitic  tribes,  invasion  of  Palestine 
by,  92  sq. ;  polyandry  among,  156. 

Hamlet,  a  genetic  aggregation,  90. 

Hansen,  Georg,  on  vitality  classes, 
125 ;  on  relation  of  population  to 
vitality  classes,  342  sq. 

Happiness,  second  subjective  element 
of  good,  406. 

Harrington,  James,  on  natural  aris¬ 
tocracy,  127. 

Hawaiian  form  of  family,  156. 

Heat,  conducive  to  revolutions  and 
crime,  136. 

Heathcote,  Lieutenant,  on  ability  of 
Mincopis  to  unite  in  defence,  273. 

Hebrews,  a  patronymic  state,  297 ;  a 
conquering  people,  309. 

Hegel,  G.  W.  F.,  subjective  explana¬ 
tion  of  society,  10 ;  on  philosophy  of 
history,  302  sq. 

Heilprin,  Angelo,  on  family  relations 
of  Eskimo,  269. 

Hellenes,  310. 

Herds,  3. 

Heredity,  repetition  in  the  form  of,  15 ; 
relation  to  population  classes,  124. 

Hermann,  statistical  law  of  marriages, 
368. 

Heroes,  of  social  value,  148. 

Heterogeneity,  of  population,  98  sq. ; 
of  hordes,  160. 

Hide  and  seek,  a  universal  sport,  118. 

Hippopotami,  family  relations  of,  154. 

Historical  sciences,  67  sq. 

History,  Schopenhauer’s  description 
of,  28;  relation  to  description  and 
explanation,  54  sq. ;  methods  of 
sociology  compared  with  those  of, 
66;  precedent  to  theory,  70,  prob¬ 


lems  of,  71 ;  beginnings  of,  253 ;  phi¬ 
losophy  of,  302  sq. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  did  not  study  society 
in  all  aspects,  6;  subjective  explana¬ 
tion  of  society,  6,  10;  on  origin  of 
sovereignty,  37 ;  on  primary  congre¬ 
gation,  94 ;  natural  man  of,  421. 

Hodgson,  S.  H.,  on  psychical  deter¬ 
mination,  382. 

Holmes,  O.  W.,  Jr.,  on  legal  liability 
of  Saxon  and  early  Roman,  61 ;  on 
origin  of  toleration  and  justice,  114. 

Homage,  a  primary  tradition,  141. 

Hominine  species,  habitat  of,  219  sq. 

Hood,  Thomas,  a  world  with  no  other 
side  the  way,  53. 

Hooker,  J.  D.,  Kasias  metronymic,  163. 

Hopkins,  Edward  Washburn,  on  early 
religion,  249;  on  sexual  relations  of 
ancient  Aryans,  264;  on  feudalism 
in  the  tribe,  296 ;  village  community, 
317. 

Hordes,  3;  savages  collected  in,  81; 
come  together  on  account  of  food 
supply,  84 ;  intermixture  of  elements 
kept  up  in,  96;  compose  the  lowest 
class  of  ethnic  societies,  157 ;  exam¬ 
ples  of  clusters  of,  159;  relation  to 
clans,  258  sq.,  272  sq.;  relation  to 
tribes,  258  sq.,  273  sq.;  brought 
together  by  periodic  festivities,  261 ; 
intercourse  of,  261;  patronymic, 
265 ;  exogamous,  267,  269 ;  marriage 
forms  in,  268. 

Horses,  wild,  aggregation  of,  80; 
migrations  of,  83 ;  know  each  other 
by  touch,  107 ;  have  leaders  and 
sentinels,  115;  social  mind  among, 
135 ;  protected  by  social  habits,  205. 

Hostility,  a  result  of  contact,  92. 

Hottentots,  polyandry  among,  155 ; 
tribal  organization  of,  167  sq. ;  less 
sociable  than  negroes,  392. 

Household,  centre  of  economic  tradi¬ 
tion,  142;  an  economic  purposive 
association,  173 ;  relation  to  family, 
275 ;  arrangement  of,  276  sq. 

Hovas,  polyandry  among,  156;  met¬ 
ronymic,  163 ;  tribal  organization 
of,  165. 

Hovelacque  et  Herve,  on  fragments 
of  Neanderthal  skull,  214 ;  on  poly- 
genism,  221. 

Human  nature,  acquired  after  the 
development  of  speech,  225. 


458 


INDEX 


Humboldt,-  Alex,  von,  polyandry 
among  Orinoco  Indians,  155. 

Hume,  David,  gave  Comte  ideas  of 
causation,  6 ;  subjective  explanation 
of  society,  6,  10. 

Hungarian,  standard  of  living,  145. 

Hunter,  W.  W.,  on  tribal  organization 
of  Santals,  165  sq. 

Hurons,  163. 

Huxley,  Thomas  Henry,  Comte’s  no¬ 
tions  of  causation  due  to  Hume,  6 ; 
on  Europe  and  Africa  in  early  ter¬ 
tiary  period,  215  ;  on  characteristics 
of  English  race,  312;  on  ethical 
progress,  413. 

Hyades,  Paul,  Fuegians  patronymic, 
265. 

Ibex,  watchfulness  for  safety  of  herds, 
115. 

Icard,  S.,  on  pathological  mental  states 
in  woman,  378  sq. 

Idea-forces,  11. 

Ideal,  combination  of  new  thought 
and  tradition  of  personality,  146  sq. 

Idealism,  407. 

Ideality,  74. 

Igloo,  159. 

Images,  how  regarded  by  savages,  144. 

Imbecile,  126. 

Imitation,  a  fundamental  phenomenon, 
15 ;  with  no  germ  of  society,  16 ;  re¬ 
lation  to  consciousness  of  kind,  18 ; 
definition  of,  103;  a  part  of  every 
conscious  conflict,  103;  assimilates 
and  harmonizes,  109;  theory  of, 
110  sq.,  389 ;  custom  and  mode,  112 ; 
an  essential  activity  of  association, 
116 ;  conventionalizes  activities,  118 ; 
of  like  individuals,  122;  a  charac¬ 
teristic  of  true  social  nature,  123; 
social  integration  of  feeling  by 
means  of,  134  sq. ;  before  the  advent 
of  man,  199 ;  a  mental  consequence 
of  association,  200;  unsociable  ani¬ 
mal  deprived  of,  206;  a  conscious 
coordination,  389;  laws  of,  400  sq. 

Immigrants,  distribution  of,  372. 

Immigration,  relation  to  natural  in¬ 
crease,  99  sq. 

Immunity,  of  life :  primitive  concep¬ 
tions,  242 ;  of  possession :  primitive 
conceptions,  243. 

Implements,  element  in  tradition  of 
utilization,  141;  evidences  of  suc¬ 


cessive  overflowings  of  population, 
311. 

Impression,  of  many  minds  upon  one, 
15,  112 ;  not  always  developed  into 
association,  16 ;  relation  to  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind,  18;  of  meeting  con¬ 
fused,  108 ;  of  external  world  upon 
the  mind,  381. 

Impulse,  social,  causes  of  unreasoning, 
136. 

Incas,  84. 

Incest,  267. 

Increase,  natural,  relation  to  immigra¬ 
tion,  100. 

Indians,  North  American,  future  hab¬ 
itat  of,  86 ;  differentiation  of  tribes, 
161  sq. ;  metronymic,  161 ;  origin  of, 
219,  231 ;  method  of  choosing  medi¬ 
cine,  251 ;  household  arrangement 
of,  276  sq.;  polygamy  among,  276; 
forms  of  cooperation  among,  279 ;  as 
traders,  279  sq. ;  individual  leader¬ 
ship,  283 ;  change  from  metronymic 
to  patronymic  relationships,  287 ;  so¬ 
cial  and  legal  disadvantages  of,  316 
sq.;  lack  of  adaptability,  328;  conser¬ 
vatism  and  progressiveness  among, 
328;  less  sociable  than  Eskimo, 
392. 

Individual,  guided  by  the  majority, 
132  sq. 

Individualism,  195 ;  rhythmical  with 
communism,  399. 

Induction,  53  sq. 

Industrial  associations,  growth  of, 
394. 

Industrial  class,  evolution  of,  315. 

Industrial  corporations,  part  of  social 
constitution,  171. 

Industrial  groups, 187. 

Industrial  organization,  development 
of,  334  sq. 

Industry,  does  not  prevent  normal 
intermingling,  98;  weakens  tribal 
bonds,  319. 

Inebriate,  126. 

Inequality,  a  characteristic  of  a  social 
population,  124;  expressed  by  reac¬ 
tion  of  speech  upon  desire,  227  sq. ; 
consequence  of  periodic  festivity, 
262 ;  necessity  of,  394. 

Influence,  social,  of  the  thoughtful 
man,  139. 

Infusoria,  experiments  of  Maupas  on 
cultures  of,  95  sq. 


INDEX 


459 


Inheritance,  relation  to  vitality  classes, 
125  sq. 

Inland  negroes,  metronymic,  163. 

Innuit,  size  of  villages  conditioned 
by  supply  of  walruses,  84;  detach¬ 
ment  of  families  from  main  camp, 
90  sq.;  horde  organization  of,  159; 
sexual  relations  of,  263 ;  patronymic, 
265. 

Insane,  belong  to  defective  class, 
126. 

Insanity,  study  of,  130;  statistics  of, 
348. 

Insects,  at  times  the  food  of  Black- 
fellows,  83 ;  genetic  aggregations  of, 
89 ;  effect  of  environment  upon,  91 ; 
congregation  of,  92. 

Instinct,  explanation  of,  142  sq. 

Institutionally,  74. 

Institutions,  common  to  savage  tribes 
and  civil  communities,  61 ;  social, 
ends  in  themselves,  150;  first  posi¬ 
tive,  314 ;  authoritative,  value  to  in¬ 
dividual  personality,  395 ;  value  of, 
396. 

Integration,  undergone  by  society,  9 ; 
of  consciousness  of  kind,  22;  the 
result  of  evolution  in  primary  con¬ 
duct,  101 ;  social,  of  feeling  and 
belief,  134  sq. ;  of  elements  of  social 
consciousness,  137 ;  of  elements  and 
products  of  the  social  mind,  147 ; 
social,  the  primary  purpose  of  the 
state,  178;  of  hordes,  274;  social, 
perfected  by  ancestor  worship,  293. 

Integrity,  third  subjective  element  of 
goodness  and  third  criterion  of  char¬ 
acter,  407. 

Intelligence,  developed  by  association, 
200, 204;  of  cranes  insures  long  life, 
205 ;  importance  in  struggle  for  life, 
206. 

Intent,  imitation  without  social,  16. 

Interbreeding,  95  sq. 

Intercourse,  social,  dependent  on  phys¬ 
ical  groupings  of  population,  3;  with 
no  trace  of  cooperation,  14;  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind  the  basis  of,  18 ; 
developed  from  concourse,  71 ;  begin¬ 
nings  in  animal  society,  73 ;  a  mode 
of  conflict,  100 ;  when  possible,  102 ; 
modified  by  imitation,  103 ;  influence 
on  public  opinion,  138;  a  social 
bond  in  demotic  societies,  157 ;  of 
hordes,  261,  274. 


Intermarriage,  95,  311. 

Intermixture,  96  sq. 

Interpretation,  of  society  in  terms  of 
natural  causation,  7 ;  physical  or 
objective,  9 ;  failure  of  any  unity  of, 
10;  subjective,  in  terms  of  human 
nature,  utility,  etc.,  10;  objective  in 
terms  of  race,  soil,  climate,  etc.,  10 ; 
province  of  sociology  defined  from 
point  of  view  of  subjective,  22;  re¬ 
lation  of  special  social  sciences  to 
subjective,  36;  subjective,  44  sq. ; 
last  investigation  of  sociology,  biol¬ 
ogy,  and  psychology,  54. 

Intimacy,  analysis  of,  391  sq. 

Intoxicants,  use  of,  119  sq. 

Intuitionalists,  384. 

Invention,  result  of  conflict  of  imita¬ 
tions,  112 ;  developed  by  association, 
122 ;  of  tools  by  primitive  man,  241 ; 
a  prime  factor  in  economic  produc¬ 
tion,  241 ;  developed  after  constitu¬ 
tional  liberty  has  been  established, 

334  sq. ;  effect  of,  on  population, 

335  sq. 

Investigations,  statical,  59  sq. ;  ki¬ 
netic,  60 ;  necessity  of  broader  basis 
of,  68. 

Iphigenia,  worship  of  the  dead  by, 
291. 

Irish,  polyandry  among  ancient,  156 ; 
modifiable,  326 ;  more  sociable  than 
English,  392. 

Irish,  American,  inability  of  adaption 
to  en  vironment,  91 ;  generally  demo¬ 
cratic,  338;  choice  of  occupations, 
339 ;  segregation  of,  372. 

Iroquois,  territory  and  resources  of, 
84;  wars  with  Algonquins,  92;  vil¬ 
lage  grouping  of,  162  sq. ;  tribal 
organization  of,  163  sq.;  organiza¬ 
tion  and  functions  of  clan,  173. 

Isms,  modification  of  metaphysical 
tradition,  by  current  speculation, 
145  sq. ;  mental  life  of  society  ex¬ 
pressed  in,  147. 

Israelites,  preservation  of  captured 
women  by,  311. 

Italians,  stages  of  progress  among, 
301  sq. ;  a  demogenic  state,  299. 

Italians,  American,  inability  of  adap¬ 
tion  to  environment,  91 ;  segregation 
of,  372. 

Izoulet,  Jean,  on  disintegration  of  the 
city,  350. 


460 


INDEX 


Jaguar,  dramatic  imitations  of,  among 
Carib  Indians,  118. 

James,  William,  on  psychical  deter¬ 
mination,  382. 

Japanese,  ancestor  worship  among, 
290. 

Jenks,  Jeremiah  W.,  on  public  opinion, 
139. 

Jephson,  Henry,  on  public  opinion, 
138. 

Jevons,  W.  S.,  abstract  analysis  of 
economy,  12 ;  on  formulation  of  sub¬ 
jective  utility,  41;  on  sociological 
methods,  54. 

Jews,  choice  of  occupations,  339  sq. 

Juridical  tradition,  primary,  141; 
analysis,  142;  combined  with  new 
law,  145 ;  cherished  by  clan,  173. 

Jurisprudence,  analytical,  51 ;  histori¬ 
cal,  61 ;  comparative,  68,  114. 

Jus  commercii,  319. 

Jus  connubii,  319. 

Jus  gentium,  329  sq. 

Jus  naturfe,  330. 

Jus  sanguinis,  322. 

Justice,  origin  in  force,  114. 

Kaffirs,  tribal  organization  of,  167 ; 
forms  of  wealth  among,  294;  less 
sociable  than  negroes,  392. 

Kangaroo,  imitated  in  Tasmanian 
dances,  118. 

Kant,  Immanuel,  subjective  explana¬ 
tion  of  society,  10. 

Kasias,  metronymic,  163. 

Keith,  Arthur,  on  the  Pithecanthropus 
erectus,  217. 

Kellogg,  Charles  D.,  on  statistics  of 
poor,  130;  on  charity  organization 
in  the  United  States,  191  sq. 

Kendall,  Henry,  examples  of  genetic 
aggregation,  90. 

Khonds,  sexual  relations  of,  263. 

Kindred  groups,  among  Santals,  166. 

Kindred,  totemic,  explanation  of,  160. 

Kinship,  in  relation  to  culture,  245. 

Kinetic  tendencies,  balanced  with 
static,  9. 

Kinetics,  explanation  of,  58  sq. 

Kisar  tribes,  marriage  by  capture  in, 
286. 

Kitchen-middens,  of  Denmark,  211. 

Knights  of  Labour,  189. 

Know-nothing  party,  184. 

Knox,  Robert,  on  origin  of  trade,  280, 


Kobong,  160. 

Kolbe,  Pierre,  Kaffirs,  Bechuanas,  and 
Hottentots  patronymic,  167. 

Korroboree,  120. 

Koryaks,  polyandry  among,  155. 

Kovalevsky,  Maxime,  on  position  of 
land  cultivators  in  village  com¬ 
munity,  317. 

Kraals,  168. 

Kropotkin,  P.  A.,  on  animal  aggrega¬ 
tion,  80  sq. ;  on  social  habits  of  ani¬ 
mals,  83;  on  cooperation  of  white 
cockatoos  in  Australia,  115 ;  on  play 
of  young  birds,  117 ;  on  play  of 
prairie  dogs,  117 ;  examples  of  ani¬ 
mal  life,  204  sq. 

Ku-Klux  Klan,  174,  186. 

Labour,  element  in  tradition  of  utili¬ 
zation,  141. 

Labour  organizations,  part  of  social 
constitution,  171 ;  description  of,  189. 

Lamarck,  J.  B.  P.  A.,  first  used  term 
biology,  32 ;  on  kinetic  biology,  59. 

Lander,  Richard  and  John,  on  origin 
of  trade,  280. 

Lang,  Andrew,  on  nicknaming  among 
savages,  250. 

Language,  the  agent  for  interchange 
of  thought  and  feeling,  71 ;  by  means 
of  attitude,  utterance,  etc.,  108;  a 
custom  imitation,  112;  an  aid  to 
the  social  mind,  132;  a  social  bond 
among  Iroquois,  164  ;  unsociable 
animal  deprived  of,  206;  developed 
into  speech,  222  sq. ;  distinguished 
from  speech,  223;  separated  from 
race,  253 ;  relation  to  tradition,  253; 
developed  by  periodic  festivities,  261. 

Lapps,  origin  of,  231 ;  one  of  the  oldest 
living  races,  237. 

Lassalle,  working-man’s  programme, 
346. 

Latham,  R.  G.,  on  governmental  or¬ 
ganization  of  the  Ostyaks,  167. 

Latins,  a  conquering  people,  309  sq. 

Laurent,  Iilmile,  on  criminals,  127. 

Laveleye,  Emile  de,  on  position  of  land 
cultivators  in  village  community, 
317. 

Law,  common  to  savage  tribes  and 
civil  communities,  61;  public,  68 
sq.  j  psychology  of ,  69 ;  problems  of 
social,  71 ;  problems  of,  75 ;  modi¬ 
fied  in  passing  from  nation  to 


INDEX 


461 


nation,  111;  a  custom  imitation, 
112 ;  the  jural  tradition  the  common, 
142;  combination  of  new  with  jural 
tradition,  145 ;  of  social  value,  149 ; 
Social,  and  Cause,  Book  IV.,  Chapter 
III.,  400  sq. ;  sociology  a  product  of 
natural  causation  and  natural,  417. 

Leadership,  of  social  value,  148;  to 
the  primitive  mind,  244  sq.;  ori¬ 
gin  of,  262;  coordination  through, 
389  sq. 

Le  Bon,  Gustave,  on  psychology  of 
crowds,  134  sq. ;  on  social  mind  of 
the  crowd,  150  sq. 

Lefevre,  Andre,  on  origin  of  present 
culture  divisions,  253. 

Legal  constitution,  of  society,  331. 

Legal  organization,  aim  of  second 
stage  of  progress,  300  sq. 

Legal  sciences,  67  sq. 

Legislation,  policy  a  plan  of,  146. 

Leidy,  Joseph,  on  the  amoeb®,  106. 

Lemuria,  213. 

Lestrade,  Combes  de,  on  sociology,  15. 

Letourneau,  Charles,  on  the  origin  of 
toleration  and  justice,  114;  on  use 
of  intoxicating  drinks  and  narcotics 
among  savages,  119;  on  organiza¬ 
tion  of  Tongans,  165 ;  on  sexual  re¬ 
lations  of  Tahitians,  263. 

Levasseur,  E.,  studies  of  birth-rates, 
337 ;  on  vitality  of  populations  of 
the  Loire  and  Garonne  valleys,  340. 

Lewes,  George  Henry,  on  development 
of  invention  by  association,  122; 
first  to  formulate  scientific  concep¬ 
tion  of  social  mind,  132;  on  the 
general  mind,  133;  conceptions  of 
natural  causation  and  natural  law, 
417. 

Lex  Salica,  metronymy  among  Ger¬ 
mans,  165. 

Liability  of  Englishman  and  early 
Roman,  61. 

Liberal  party,  organization  of  com¬ 
mercialism  and  capitalism,  183  sq. 

Liberalism,  effect  on  conceptions  of 
marriage,  333 ;  impairs  federal  state, 
333  sq. 

Liberals,  English,  345. 

Liberty,  of  social  value,  149;  concep¬ 
tion  of,  329  sq. ;  demand  for,  331 ; 
relation  of  government  to,  395  sq. 

Lieber,  Francis,  on  constitutional 
liberty,  396. 


Life,  social,  association  adapts  indi¬ 
viduals  to,  123, 126  sq. ;  how  created, 
133. 

Likeness  of  kind,  impressions  of,  105, 
108;  before  the  advent  of  man, 
199. 

Lilienfeld,  Paul  von,  on  recognition  of 
social  will,  11. 

Lister,  J.  J.,on  encounter  of  Bowditch 
Island  boys,  108  sq. 

Literary  societies,  part  of  social  con¬ 
stitution,  171. 

Literature,  dependent  on  density  of 
population,  367. 

Lloyd,  Henry  D.,  list  of  trusts,  189. 

Locke,  John,  subjective  explanation 
of  society,  10;  on  origin  of  sover¬ 
eignty,  37 ;  on  primary  congrega¬ 
tion,  94. 

Locusts,  aggregation  influenced  by 
place  and  food-supply,  82. 

Logic,  social,  a  term  of  M.  Tarde’s, 
134 ;  highest  manifestation  of,  147. 

Lombroso,  Cesare,  on  personality 
classes,  125 ;  on  criminals,  127. 

Lombroso  et  Laschi,  on  effect  of  heat 
on  revolutions  and  crime,  136. 

Longstaff,  G.  B.,  statistics  of  births 
and  deaths,  91 ;  on  heterogeneity  of 
London,  99;  on  population  of  New 
York,  100;  on  sifting  of  population, 
326. 

Loyalty,  primitive  conceptions  of,  244. 

Lubbock,  John,  on  paleolithic  im¬ 
plements,  214;  on  distribution  of 
anthropoid  apes,  216  ;  theory  of 
primitive  communism  in  women, 
263. 

Lumholtz,  Carl,  on  cave  dwellers,  81 ; 
on  the  intermingling  of  savage 
hordes,  96  sq. ;  on  expulsion  of 
strong  anti-social  among  savages, 
113 ;  on  family  life  of  the  Australian 
Blackfellows,  155;  on  territory  of 
savage  hordes,  244 ;  periodic  festivi¬ 
ties  the  means  of  drawing  hordes 
together,  261 ;  restraints  upon  sexual 
indulgence  frequently  broken  down, 
261. 

Lutherans,  190. 

Lyceum,  means  of  maintaining  public 
opinion,  138. 

Lycians,  310. 

Lydians,  overran  Asia  Minor,  310. 

Lynchings,  135, 


462 


INDEX 


MacDonald,  Arthur,  on  expulsion  of 
strong  anti-social  wild  cattle,  113; 
on  personality  classes,  125 ;  on  crimi¬ 
nals,  127 ;  on  criminals  among  ani¬ 
mals,  128. 

Macedonia,  prepared  way  for  con¬ 
ception  of  universal  brotherhood, 
360. 

Mackenzie,  John  S.,  on  the  ultimate 
social  phenomenon,  15 ;  on  the  de¬ 
velopment  of  human  personality, 
356. 

Macpherson,  Samuel  C.,  on  sexual 
relations  of  Khonds,  263. 

Maine,  Henry  Sumner,  on  the  patri¬ 
archal  theory,  265;  on  origin  of 
trade,  280 ;  on  power  of  tribal  chiefs, 
294;  on  position  of  land  cultivator 
in  the  village  community,  317. 

Malagasy.  See  Hovas. 

Malays,  origin  of,  231;  marriage  by 
capture  among,  286. 

Mallock,  W.  H.,  no  wealth  without 
inequality,  241. 

Malthusian  theory  of  population,  34, 
335  sq. 

Manufactures,  embraced  by  the  eco¬ 
nomic  tradition,  142. 

Marlborough  Club,  181. 

Marmots,  aggregation  of,  80;  play 
among,  117. 

Marriage,  generally  between  persons 
of  different  clans,  97  sq. ;  various 
forms  of,  155  sq. ;  dependent  on 
environment,  265  sq.;  regulated  by 
clan,  278  ;  influenced  by  ancestor 
worship,  292;  romantic,  333;  beena, 
268  sq.,  286 ;  mot'a,  286 ;  ba'al,  286. 

Marriage  by  capture,  results  in  con¬ 
stant  intermixture  of  elements  in 
savage  hordes,  96 ;  among  the  Black- 
fellows,  97  ;  among  Australian 
hordes,  159  sq. ;  first  step  in  change 
from  metronymic  to  patronymic, 
285  sq. ;  makes  the  horde  exoga- 
mous,  269 ;  among  Arabs,  286  sq. 

Marriage  by  purchase,  288  sq. 

Marriage  rate,  conditioned  by  degree 
of  prosperity,  367. 

Marsh,  O.  C.,  on  the  Pithecanthropus 
erectus,  217. 

Marshall,  H.  R.,  theory  of  pleasure, 
383. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  on  Comte’s  phi¬ 
losophy  of  history,  303. 


Mason,  O.  T.,  on  woman’s  primitive 
industrial  inventions,  241. 

Mathematics,  46,  47,  50. 

Matthews,  M.  C.,  on  South  Australian 
dances,  118. 

Matthews,  Washington,  on  secret 
societies  of  Navajoes,  173. 

Maupas,  experiments  with  cultures  of 
iufusoria,  95  sq. 

Maurer,  Georg  L.  von,  on  position  of 
land  cultivators  in  village  commu¬ 
nity,  317. 

Mayas,  84. 

Mayo-Smith,  Richmond,  on  statical 
investigation,  64;  statistics  of  sui¬ 
cide,  348 ;  marriage,  birth,  and  death 
rates  conditioned  by  degree  of  pros¬ 
perity,  367 ;  on  distribution  of  im¬ 
migrants,  372. 

McLennan,  John  F.,  on  patriarchal 
theory,  94,  265 ;  on  polyandry  among 
ancient  peoples,  156 ;  on  metronymy 
among  Greeks,  165 ;  on  nicknaming 
among  savages,  250 ;  theory  of  gen¬ 
eral  promiscuity,  263 ;  on  beena  mar¬ 
riage,  268 ;  on  marriage  by  purchase, 
289 ;  on  the  bossum  wife,  289  sq. 

Medicine.  See  Totem. 

Medusae,  aggregation  influenced  by 
external  conditions,  82. 

Meeting,  a  form  of  conflict,  104 ;  con¬ 
fused  impressions  of,  108;  political 
opinion  organized  by  public,  138  sq. ; 
alternated  with  separation,  151. 

Membership,  of  social  constitution, 
171 ;  freedom  of,  331  sq. 

Memory,  social,  a  step  in  organization 
of  social  mind,  137  ;  analysis  of, 
140  sq. ;  development  of,  284. 

Mental  life,  characteristics  of,  383. 

Merchant  class,  evolution  of,  318  sq. 

Metaphysical  tradition,  tertiary,  141 ; 
analysis,  144  sq. 

Method,  of  interpreting  society,  11  sq. ; 
unity  of,  13,  51 ;  of  concrete  sciences, 
47  ;  of  abstract  sciences,  48 ;  of  soci¬ 
ology,  Book  I.,  Chapter  III.,  52  sq. ; 
inductive  and  deductive,  53  sq. ; 
general  rule  of  sociological,  55;  of 
classification,  generalization,  and 
deduction,  60;  of  empirical  general¬ 
izations,  64;  comparative,  64,  68; 
historical,  64,  68 ;  statistical,  64  sq. ; 
of  sociology,  perfection  under  exist¬ 
ing  conditions,  67 ;  deductive,  68. 


INDEX 


463 


Methodists,  190. 

Metronymic,  patronymic  tribal  na¬ 
tions  originally,  165. 

Metronymic  group,  158. 

Metronymic  folk,  examples,  163. 

Metronymic  relationship,  changed  to 
patronymic,  285  sq. 

Metronymic  tribe,  160  sq. 

Metz,  J.  F.,  on  sexual  relations  of 
Todas,  263. 

Mice,  aggregation  of,  80;  mutual  aid 
among,  114. 

Midianites,  command  of  Israelites  con¬ 
cerning,  311. 

Migrations,  aggregation  of  animals 
for  purpose  of,  80, 135 ;  influence  on 
hordes,  157 ;  the  career  of  the  patro¬ 
nymic  tribal  confederation,  309; 
determined  by  industrial  condi¬ 
tions,  338 ;  effect  upon  United  States, 
338  sq. 

Military  organization,  aim  of  first 
stage  of  progress,  300. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  on  sociological 
methods,  52,  54;  account  of  kinds, 
63 ;  on  free  trade,  64  sq. ;  on  con¬ 
ception  of  natural  causation  and 
natural  law,  417. 

Mincopis,  family  life  of,  155;  horde 
organization  of,  159;  identical  with 
the  negrillos  and  negritos,  218;  a 
remnant  of  early  human  stock,  213 ; 
race  characteristics  of,  232  sq. ;  one 
of  the  oldest  living  races,  237 ;  fam¬ 
ily  relations  of,  266 ;  power  to  com¬ 
bine  in  defence,  273. 

Mind,  general,  Lewes  on,  132  sq. 

Mind,  human,  134. 

Mind,  individual,  an  element  in  asso¬ 
ciation,  24 ;  primary  result  of  asso¬ 
ciation,  132;  resembles  the  social 
mind,  151. 

Mind,  social,  problems  of,  72 ;  action 
on  combination  of  individuals,  73 ; 
transition  from  animal  to  man 
marked  by  development  of,  74; 
Book  II.,  Chapter  II.,  132  sq. ;  sec¬ 
ondary  result  of  association  132; 
different  in  each  community,  134; 
order  of  social  valuations  150;  de¬ 
liberative  action  of,  150  sq. ;  shapes 
social  organization,  152;  influence 
on  social  groupings,  154 ;  effect  on 
social  composition,  169  sq.;  shapes 
social  composition,  174;  evolution 


of,  239;  effect  on  tribe  and  folk, 
284 ;  development  of  political  phases 
of,  314 ;  developed  by  conquest,  314 ; 
democratic  development  of,  345 ; 
evolved  in  the  city,  346. 

Missionary  effort,  149. 

Missions,  description  of,  191. 

Mitchell,  T.  L.,  on  exchange  of  women 
in  Australia,  262. 

Mixed  races,  characteristics  of,  233; 
advantages  of,  324. 

Mobs,  135. 

Mode-imitations,  112. 

Moerenhout,  J.  A.,  on  sexual  relations 
of  the  Tahitians,  263. 

Mohawks,  164. 

Moles,  family  relations  of,  154. 

Molluscs,  aggregation  conditioned  by 
external  conditions,  82. 

Money,  valued  for  its  own  sake,  150 ; 
origin  of,  318. 

Mongolian,  peculiarities  of  type,  231. 

Monkeys,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  have 
leaders  and  sentinels,  115 ;  soci¬ 
ability  and  intelligence  of,  206 ; 
catarrhine,  214;  mutual  aid  most 
developed  among,  221 ;  adoption  by, 
270. 

Monogamy,  description,  156  sq. ;  usual 
form  of  marriage  in  lowest  existing 
societies,  264 ;  mean  type  between 
polygyny  and  polyandry,  276. 

Monogenism,  221. 

Montesquieu,  Charles  L.,  did  not  study 
society  in  all  its  aspects,  6 ;  object¬ 
ive  explanation  of  society,  6,  10; 
on  relation  of  individual  to  state, 
133. 

Moose,  86. 

Moquis,  secret  societies  of,  173. 

Morgan,  C.  Lloyd,  on  psychical  begin¬ 
nings  of  association  in  lowest  ani¬ 
mal  life,  43. 

Morgan,  Lewis  H.,  on  the  patriarchal 
theory,  94;  on  the  social  organiza¬ 
tion  of  Iroquois,  164 ;  on  organiza¬ 
tion  and  functions  of  Iroquois  clan, 
173;  on  plans  of  government,  243; 
theory  of  consanguinity,  263;  on 
Indian  households,  277 ;  food  of 
Indians  made  common  stock,  277 ; 
on  relation  of  phratries  among  Sen¬ 
ecas,  282;  on  individual  leadership 
among  Indians,  283;  same  clans  in 
all  tribes,  284. 


464 


INDEX 


Morris,  G.  S.,  Hegel’s  philosophy  of 
history,  303. 

Morselli,  Enrico,  statistics  of  suicide, 
348. 

Mortillet,  Gabriel  de,  on  paleolithic 
implements,  214 ;  on  the  Dryopithe- 
cus,  214. 

Mot'a  marriage,  287. 

Motion,  relation  to  study  of  forces, 
57  sq. ;  unchanging  and  changing, 
59 ;  redistribution  of,  365 ;  rhythmi¬ 
cal,  375. 

Motive,  consciousness  of  kind  inter¬ 
feres  with  political,  economic,  and 
religious,  18;  relation  to  conscious¬ 
ness  of  kind,  22;  original,  of  com¬ 
munication,  108;  of  purposive  alli¬ 
ance,  142;  for  retaining  possession 
of  captured  wife  and  children,  288. 

Motives,  social,  abstract  ethics  an 
analysis  of,  40;  problems  of  inter¬ 
play  of,  75. 

Municipal  government,  part  of  social 
constitution,  171. 

Murder,  arrangements  by  clans  and 
phratries  concerning,  282 ;  where 
prevalent,  349. 

Musk-oxen,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  habi¬ 
tat,  86. 

Mutilations,  origin  of,  251. 

Mutual  aid,  not  distinguishing  mark 
of  society,  14 ;  imitation  antecedent 
to,  15 ;  cause  of  survival  of  animal 
life,  43 ;  problems  of,  71 ;  beginnings 
in  animal  society,  73;  propinquity 
and  contact  necessary  to,  79 ;  anal¬ 
ysis  of,  114  sq. ;  not  the  only  means 
of  preserving  social  cohesion,  140; 
acted  upon  by  social  mind,  152;  of 
groups,  153;  of  purposive  associa¬ 
tions,  172 ;  combined  with  social 
pleasure  in  fraternal  societies,  193; 
before  the  advent  of  man,  199; 
action  on  environment,  201 ;  high¬ 
est  development  among  animals  in 
social  apes  and  monkeys,  221 ;  in 
attack  and  defence,  244 ;  con¬ 
sciously  purposive,  262. 

Mutual  effort,  dependent  on  physical 
grouping  of  population,  3. 

Mutual  interests,  a  social  bond  in 
demotic  society,  157. 

Mythology,  72 ;  comparative,  38. 

Myths,  modified  in  passing  from  nation 
to  nation,  111. 


Nair  polyandry,  155  sq. 

Napo  Indians,  119. 

Narcotics,  119  sq. 

Narragansetts,  162. 

Nasse,  Edwin  von,  on  position  of  land 
cultivators  in  village  community,  317. 

Nation,  3;  a  part  of  society,  4;  ele¬ 
ment  and  stage  in  social  composi¬ 
tion,  73 ;  evolution  of,  74 ;  a  genetic 
aggregation,  90 ;  the  medium  of  the 
individual  mind,  133;  each  has  its 
own  social  mind,  134;  a  social  type 
in  each,  148;  definition  of  an  ethnic, 
158 ;  examples  of  tribal,  163 ;  patro¬ 
nymic  tribal  originally  metronymic, 
165. 

National  Conference  of  Charities  and 
Correction,  192. 

National  Prison  Congress,  192. 

Native  born,  intermingling  with  for¬ 
eign  born,  98  sq. ;  choice  of  occupa¬ 
tions,  339;  vitality  compared  with 
that  of  foreign  born,  340. 

Natural  history,  32. 

Natural  selection.  See  Selection,  natu¬ 
ral. 

Nature,  social,  created  by  association, 
123  sq. ;  tolerant,  123  sq. ;  physical, 
mental,  and  moral,  131 ;  and  End 
of  Society,  Book  IV.,  Chapter  IV., 
420  sq. 

Nautili,  aggregations  influenced  by 
external  conditions,  82. 

Navajoes,  a  true  tribe,  162 ;  secret 
societies  of,  173. 

Neanderthal  skull,  214. 

Negrillos,  identical  with  Mincopis  and 
negritos,  218 ;  race  characteristics  of, 
235  ;  habitat  of,  235 ;  one  of  the  oldest 
living  races,  237. 

Negritos,  identical  with  negrillos  and 
Mincopis,  218;  race  characteristics 
of,  232,  234  sq. ;  one  of  the  oldest 
living  races,  237. 

Negroes,  peculiarities  of  type  of,  230 
sq. ;  habitat  of  the  dolichocephalic, 
235 ;  race  characteristics,  235  sq. ; 
social  disabilities  of,  316  sq.;  adapt¬ 
ability  of,  328  sq. ;  more  sociable 
than  Bushmen,  Hottentots,  and 
Kaffirs,  392. 

Neutral  nation,  163. 

New  Caledonia,  polyandry  in,  155. 

New  Hebrides  boys,  ingenious  games 
of,  118  sq. 


INDEX 


465 


Newspaper,  organ  of  public  opinion, 
138. 

New  Zealand,  polyandry  in,  155. 

Nitti,  F.  S.,  on  population,  337. 

Nocturnal  birds,  places  of  building 
nests,  82. 

Non-secret  societies,  181. 

Non-social  class,  definition  of,  71 ; 
composition  of,  127. 

Normans,  effect  on  English  race, 
311  sq. 

Northmen,  88. 

Norwegians,  segregation  of,  372. 

Nott,  J.  C.,  and  Gliddon,  on  offspring 
of  mixed  stocks,  324. 

Novicow,  Jacques,  theory  of  element¬ 
ary  social  phenomena,  14. 

Obedience,  a  primary  tradition,  141. 

Observation  of  society,  beginnings  of 
a  scientific,  5 ;  first  investigation  of 
sociology,  biology,  and  psychology, 
54;  compared  with  retrospection, 
55,  60. 

Occupations,  order  of  preference  of 
Americans,  339  sq. 

Odd-Fellows,  193. 

Omahas,  162. 

Oneidas,  village  grouping  of,  162 ;  sepa¬ 
ration  of,  from  Mohawks,  164. 

Onondagas,  162. 

Opinion,  current,  integrated  with  tra¬ 
dition,  145  sq. 

Opinion,  public,  a  part  of  the  social 
mind,  132 ;  genesis  of,  138 ;  analysis, 
138  sq. ;  integration  of,  equals  tradi¬ 
tion,  141 ;  effect  on  new  law,  145  sq. ; 
intellectual  product  of  social  mind, 
147. 

Orang-utan,  154  sq. 

Orcutt,  Samuel,  on  village  grouping  of 
Algonquins,  161  sq. 

Order,  social,  social  statics  a  name  for, 
9 ;  social  statics  confounded  with,  57. 

Organic  society,  Spencer’s  and  Comte’s 
conception  of,  8. 

Organism,  Spencer’s  view  of  society 
as  an,  8 physical  interpretation  of, 
59;  physical,  modified  by  associa¬ 
tion,  200  ;  society  not  an,  420. 

Organization,  for  purpose  of  common 
concern,  3;  imparts  stability  to  so¬ 
cial  group,  4 ;  of  state  equivalent  to 
social  structure,  72 ;  none  in  hordes, 
158;  of  the  Iroquois  clan,  173;  of 
2  H 


family  changed  by  ancestor  wor¬ 
ship,  291  sq.;  of  demogenic  societies 
becomes  democratic,  299 ;  society 
an,  420, 

Organization,  governmental,  of  Osty- 
aks,  167. 

Organization,  military,  of  the  tribe, 
283. 

Organization,  social,  correlative  of 
universal  physical  process,  8 ;  sub¬ 
ject  matter  of  problems  of  descrip¬ 
tion,  71 ;  problems  of,  72  ;  based  on 
kinship,  90 ;  shaped  by  social  mind, 
152 ;  of  ants,  172 ;  relation  to  pro¬ 
longation  of  infancy,  229;  changed 
from  metronymic  to  patronymic, 
285  sq. ;  determining  extent  of 
association,  393  sq. 

Organization,  tribal,  study  of  phases 
of,  62;  of  Iroquois,  163  sq.;  of  Ton- 
gans,  164  sq.;  of  Hovas,  165;  of 
Santals,  165  sq.;  of  Kaffirs,  Hotten¬ 
tots,  Damaras,  and  Bechuanas,  167 
sq. 

Organization ,  voluntary,  reaction  upon 
personal  liberty,  331  sq. 

Orgeas,  J.,  on  zones  of  population, 
373. 

Orinoco  Indians,  polyandry  among, 
155. 

Ornaments,  an  element  in  tradition  of 
utilization,  141. 

Owen,  Richard,  on  sisters  as  wives, 
267. 

Pain,  definition  of,  102;  relation  to 
evolution  of  personality,  383. 

Pain  economy,  Patten’s  view  of,  405  sq. 

Paleolithic  implements,  as  evidences 
of  a  European  origin  of  man,  214; 
found  in  Libyan  desert  and  in  val¬ 
ley  of  the  Nile,  218. 

Papuans,  origin  of,  231. 

Parrots,  cooperation  among,  115 ;  pro¬ 
tected  by  social  habits,  205 ;  socia¬ 
bility  and  intelligence  of,  206. 

Partnerships,  187. 

Passion,  predominating  in  the  crowd, 
150 ;  pleasures  of,  385. 

Paternal  authority,  reaction  upon  re¬ 
ligion,  290  sq. 

Pathology,  sociology  as  a  social,  29. 

Patriarchal  clan,  167. 

Patriarchal  groups,  91. 

Patriarchal  theory,  94,  209,  263,  265. 


466 


INDEX 


Patronymic  group,  explanation  of, 

159. 

Patronymic  relationship,  evolved  from 
metronymic,  285  sq. 

Patronymic  tribal  nations,  originally 
metronymic,  165. 

Patronymic  tribes,  examples,  165  sq. 

Patten,  Simon  N.,  on  present  differen¬ 
tiation  of  scientific  thought,  23 ;  on 
initial  utility,  41 ;  theory  of  social 
forces,  51;  discussion  of  methods, 
54 ;  on  law  of  population,  337 ;  on 
intellectual  and  moral  discipline, 
398 ;  on  pain  and  pleasure  econ¬ 
omy,  405  sq.;  utilitarian  aspects  of 
social  valuations,  410;  on  condi¬ 
tions  of  survival  and  progress,  414. 

Pauperism,  study  of,  129  sq. 

Paupers,  compose  the  pseudo-social 
class,  72,  127 ;  among  animals,  128 ; 
statistics  of,  130. 

Payne,  Edward  J.,  on  tribal  deities, 
290. 

Peary,  Robert,  on  family  relations  of 
Eskimos,  268  sq. 

Pearson,  Charles  H.,  on  substitution 
of  romantic  for  religious-proprie¬ 
tary  family,  333 ;  on  zones  of  popu¬ 
lation,  373. 

Peet,  Stephen  D.,  on  secret  societies 
and  sacred  mysteries,  173. 

Pelasgians,  310. 

Pelicans,  cooperation  of,  114. 

People’s  party,  184. 

Perception,  beginning  of,  104 ;  devel¬ 
opment  of  social,  284. 

Persia,  prepared  way  for  conception 
of  universal  brotherhood,  360. 

Personal  tradition,  141,  143  sq. 

Personality,  classes  of,  125  sq. ;  dif¬ 
ferentiations  of,  126 ;  tradition  of, 
in  combination  with  new  thought, 
146 ;  origin  of  the  idea  of,  246  sq. ; 
classes  in  relation  to  psychical 
ranks,  341 ;  ethical  family  aims  to 
perpetuate  a  rational,  353  sq. ;  de¬ 
velopment  of,  356 ;  social  relations 
develop  conscious,  377 ;  the  psychi¬ 
cal  result  of  association,  377  sq.; 
analysis,  377  sq. ;  relation  to  pain 
and  pleasure,  383  sq. ;  value  of 
authoritative  institutions  to  indi¬ 
vidual,  395;  where  best  possible, 
397 ;  the  function  of  society  the 
development  of,  420. 


Petrie,  W.  Flinders,  on  paleolithic 
flints  in  Egypt,  218 ;  on  prehistoric 
peoples  in  Egypt,  310. 

Philanthropic  organizations,  191  sq. 

Philanthropy,  a  mode  of  effort,  149; 
development  of,  351 ;  in  case  of  de¬ 
generate,  353  sq. 

Philology,  classifications  of,  61 ;  com¬ 
parative,  28,  37. 

Phcenicians,  310. 

Phratry,  281  sq. 

Phrygians,  310. 

Physics,  50, 57 ;  sociology  equivalent  to 
social,  6 ;  study  of  repetition  in,  15 ; 
terrestrial,  46 ;  molecular,  47  sq.;  mo¬ 
lar,  47  sq. ;  relation  to  dynamics,  58. 

Physiology,  relation  to  biology,  32; 
as  a  statical  study,  57 ;  as  a  non- 
statical  study,  57 ;  social,  62 ; 
greatly  changed  by  prolongation  of 
infancy,  229. 

Piets,  polyandry  among,  156. 

Pigeons,  aggregations  of,  80. 

Pigs,  cooperation  of  wild,  114. 

Pithecanthropus  erectus,  217. 

Plane  of  living,  definition,  335. 

Plasticity,  created  by  crossing,  324. 

Platform,  an  organ  of  public  opinion, 
140. 

Plato,  made  the  beginnings  of  scien¬ 
tific  observation,  classification,  and 
generalization  of  social  facts,  5 ; 
did  not  separate  politics  from 
ethics,  6;  theory  that  true  type 
of  ethical  life  is  social  division  of 
labour,  8;  poverty  as  destructive  of 
intellectual  and  moral  freedom  as 
luxury,  397. 

Play,  common  form  of  expenditure  of 
energy,  116  sq.;  before  the  advent 
of  man,  199 ;  a  factor  in  social  evo¬ 
lution,  201 ;  organization  of,  by  low¬ 
est  men,  222. 

Pleasure,  some  social  relations  arouse, 
20 ;  an  element  in  subjective  utility, 
42 ;  bound  to  association,  44 ;  defini¬ 
tion  of,  102 ;  necessary  to  tolerant 
nature,  124 ;  relation  to  evolution  of 
personality,  383 ;  of  action,  384  sq. ; 
of  being  acted  upon,  384  sq. ;  sub¬ 
jective  element  of  ideal  good,  403. 

Pleasure  economy,  Patten’s  view  of, 
405  sq. 

Pleasure,  social,  genesis,  116;  festiv¬ 
ity  the  commonest,  120;  of  back- 


INDEX 


467 


1  woodsmen,  121;  organizations  for, 
175 ;  combined  with  mutual  aid  in 
fraternal  societies,  193. 

Polecats,  follow  migrating  black  squir¬ 
rels,  83. 

Policy,  consciousness  of  kind  the  basis 
of,  18  sq . ;  combination  of  polit¬ 
ical  tradition  with  current  opinion, 
145  sq. ;  imposed  by  social  mind,  152 ; 
of  a  political  party,  182  sq. ;  of  the 
state,  322. 

Political  group,  the  consciousness  of 
kind  underlies,  18. 

Political  economy,  34,  50,  61,  67 ; 
method  of  interpretation  of,  12 ; 
one  of  the  political  sciences,  27 ; 
false  systems  of,  150;  deals  with 
the  functions  of  economic  associa¬ 
tions,  189. 

Political  ideas,  among  primitive  men, 
243  sq. 

Political  science,  confused  with  rev¬ 
olutionary  spirit,  6;  province  of, 
35  sq. ;  subjective  explanation,  37 ; 
deals  with  the  detailed  study  of  the 
state,  176. 

Political  tradition,  primary,  141;  an¬ 
alysis,  142;  combined  with  current 
opinion,  146. 

Political  unity,  the  aim  of  the  first 
stage  of  progress,  300. 

Politics,  34,  38,  67. 

Polyandry,  description  and  examples, 
155  sq.;  found  in  impoverished 
populations,  276. 

Polycistines,  aggregation  of,  82. 

Polygamy,  coherent  with  social  in¬ 
feriority  of  women,  64. 

Polygenism,  221. 

Polygyny,  description  and  examples, 
156 ;  found  in  rich  populations,  276. 

Poncas,  162. 

Population,  groupings  of,  3 ;  Malthu¬ 
sian  theory  of,  34,  335  sq. ;  problems 
of  social,  71 ;  Book  II.,  Chapter 
I.,  79  sq. ;  distribution  of,  in  cities, 
81  sq.  ;  relation  to  environment,  88; 
never  purely  homogeneous,  96 ; 
normally  autogenous,  99 ;  of  the  true 
natural  society,  100;  inequality  a 
characteristic  of  social,  124 ;  classes 
of,  124  sq. ;  explanation  of  differen¬ 
tiation  into  classes  of,  131 ;  out¬ 
breaks  conditioned  by  social  nature, 
etc.  of,  135;  public  opinion  found 


with  density  of,  138;  theory  of, 
335  sq. ;  relation  of  theory  of,  to 
vitality  ranks,  342  sq.;  distributed 
with  respect  to  physical  conditions, 
363 ;  conditions  determining  density 
of,  366. 

Posnett,  H.  M.,  on  association  of 
speech  and  choral  music,  224. 

Possessions,  social  value  of,  148  sq. ; 
social  type  the  end  of  social,  150; 
primitive  conceptions  of,  243. 

Post,  Albert  H.,  on  theory  of  general 
promiscuity,  263. 

Postulate,  sociological,  found  in  the 
consciousness  of  kind,  17 ;  subjec¬ 
tive,  19 ;  objective,  19 ;  of  economics 
and  politics,  38. 

Potatucks,  village  grouping  of,  161  sq. 

Potential  society,  consciousness  of 
kind  coextensive  with,  18. 

Powell,  J.  W.,  on  tribes  and  villages, 
163;  on  Indian  households,  277;  on 
forms  of  cooperation  among  Indians, 
279 ;  on  change  from  metronymic  to 
patronymic  relationships,  287. 

Power,  the  first  subjective  element  of 
goodness,  404  sq. 

Powers,  H.  H.,  on  present  differentia¬ 
tion  of  scientific  thought,  23. 

Prairie  dogs,  play  among,  117. 

Presbyterians,  190. 

Presents,  trade  originated  in  giving 
of,  280. 

Press,  an  organ  of  public  opinion, 
139  sq. 

Prichard,  James  C.,  on  hybrid  off¬ 
spring,  324. 

Primitive  society,  parallelism  with 
modern  savagery,  209. 

Problems,  classes  of  kinetic,  58  sq. ; 
hope  of  solving  static-kinetic,  60; 
of  Sociology,  Book  I.,  Chapter  IV., 
70  sq.;  primary,  71  sq. ;  secondary, 
75  sq.;  of  ethnogenie  association, 
257  sq. 

Process,  physical,  correlative  with 
social  organization,  8;  explanation 
of,  19  sq.;  Book  IV.,  Chapter  I., 
363  sq. ;  psychical,  Book  IV.,  Chap¬ 
ter  II.,  376  sq. 

Process,  social,  Durkheim’s  theory  of, 
15 ;  problems  of,  71 ;  explanation  of 
term,  75. 

Producers’  goods,  relation  to  con¬ 
sumers’  goods,  150. 


468 


INDEX 


Progress,  social  dynamics,  a  name  for, 
9 ;  social  dynamics  confounded  with 
a  history  of,  57 ;  meaning  of,  74 ; 
three  great  stages,  299  sq. ;  result  of 
the  admixture  of  ethnical  elements, 
324;  disadvantages  of,  347  sq. ;  in¬ 
terpretation  of,  356  sq. 

Prohibition  party,  184. 

Prolongation  of  infancy,  229. 

Promiscuity,  theories  of  general,  263. 

Propitiation,  of  the  living  and  of  the 
dead,  244  sq.,  249. 

Propriety,  74. 

Prosperity,  marriage,  birth,  and  death 
rates  conditioned  by  degree  of, 
367  sq. 

Province  of  Sociology,  Book  I.,  Chapter 
II.,  21  sq. ;  of  political  science,  35  sq. 

Pseudo-social  class,  definition  of,  72; 
composition  of,  127. 

Psychical  ranks,  relation  to  person¬ 
ality  classes,  341 ;  relation  to  vital¬ 
ity  ranks,  342. 

Psychological  synthesis,  68. 

Psychology,  50  sq.,  104  ;  adjustment 
of  organism  to  environment  the  core 
of,  7 ;  principles  of  sociology  derived 
from  principles  of,  8;  relation  of 
sociology  to,  21  sq. ;  physiological, 
46 ;  beginnings  of  investigation  in,  54. 

Pueblo  Indians,  change  from  metro¬ 
nymic  to  patronymic  relationships 
among,  287. 

Pulpit,  organ  of  public  opinion,  140. 

Punaluan  family,  156. 

Puritanism,  407. 

Quatrefages  de  Breau,  Jean  A.  de,  on 
place  of  man’s  origin,  212;  black 
races  moved  from  southeastern  Asia 
westward,  213;  on  race  character¬ 
istics  of  the  Mincopis,  232. 

Race,  marked  off  by  consciousness  of 
kind,  18;  congregation  of  like  and 
unlike,  93;  each  values  its  own  so¬ 
cial  type,  148;  separated  from  lan¬ 
guage,  253. 

Ramsay,  W.  M.,  on  tribes  which  over¬ 
ran  Asia  Minor,  310. 

Rats,  mutual  aid  among,  114. 

Raynourard,  laws  of  refraction  of  imi¬ 
tation,  111. 

Reason,  social  evolution  of,  284. 

Recepts,  Romanes  on,  222  sq. 


Reclus,  l£lie,  on  metronymy  in  Egypt, 
165;  on  sexual  relations  of  Innuit, 

263. 

Reform  Club,  181. 

Reidel,  J.  G.,  on  influence  of  marriage 
by  capture,  286. 

Reindeer,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  habitat 
of,  86;  watchfulness  for  safety  of 
herds,  115 ;  family  relations,  154. 

Relations,  social,  suggestions  of  an 
evolutionist  account  of,  7 ;  perfec¬ 
tion  and  extension  of,  19 ;  agreeable 
or  antagonistic,  20;  means  of  de¬ 
fence,  pleasure,  and  development, 
25 ;  outward  products  of  inward 
states,  25;  preceded  by  conscious¬ 
ness  of  utility,  41 ;  presuppose  ag¬ 
gregation,  71 ;  in  relation  to  conflict, 
102 ;  new  order  of,  319. 

Relationships,  family,  instituted  and 
sanctioned  by  the  social  mind,  62 ; 
high  development  of,  incident  to 
bountiful  environments,  84 ;  through 
mothers  in  metronymic  organiza¬ 
tion,  158;  through  fathers  in  pat¬ 
ronymic  organization,  159;  through 
mothers  in  the  Australian  horde, 
160;  changed  from  metronymic  to 
patronymic,  285  sq. 

Religion,  modified  in  passing  from 
nation  to  nation,  111;  supported  by 
8tate,179;  analysis,  190 sq.;  interpre¬ 
tation  of,  249 ;  directed  by  phratry, 
282 ;  increases  authority  of  husband, 
289;  first  positive  institution,  314; 
organized  and  made  national,  323; 
conditioned  by  density  of  popula¬ 
tion,  367 ;  view  of  things  and  persons 
as  acting  from  inward  impulse, 
381. 

Religions,  comparative  study  of,  28, 
38,  72. 

Religious  tradition,  secondary,  141; 
analysis,  144. 

Remarriage,  common  among  savages, 
155. 

Renaissance,  301. 

Renan,  Ernest,  on  comparative  philol¬ 
ogy,  37 ;  race  imaginary,  254. 

Republican  party,  180. 

Reputation,  pleasures  of,  385. 

Resemblance,  confused  impressions  of, 
108. 

Resources,  effect  on  distribution  of 
population,  87. 


INDEX 


469 


Response,  of  many  to  inventiveness  of 
one,  15. 

Responsibility,  crowds  devoid  of,  136. 

Retrospection,  compared  with  observa¬ 
tion,  55,  60. 

Revenge,  equilibrium  of  strength  main¬ 
tained  by  acts  of,  113;  undertaken 
by  clan  or  phratry,  282. 

Revivals,  mode  imitations,  112;  emo¬ 
tional,  135. 

Revolutions,  mode  imitations,  112; 
sympathetic  integration .  of  feeling 
manifested  in,  135 ;  made  more  fre¬ 
quent  by  heat,  136. 

Rhinoceroses,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Ribot,  Theodule  A.,  on  the  results  of 
association,  122 ;  on  psychical  deter¬ 
mination,  382;  on  the  unity  of  the 
ego,  379. 

Right,  notions  of,  40,  45. 

Rights,  natural,  418. 

Riots,  sympathetic  integration  of  feel¬ 
ing  manifested  in,  135 ;  number  in¬ 
creased  by  heat,  136. 

Rivalry,  important  factor  in  all  games, 
119 ;  pleasures  of,  385. 

Roberty,  Eugene  de,  sociology  a  de¬ 
scriptive  science,  419. 

Robin,  16. 

Rodents,  aggregation  of,  80. 

Roebucks,  watchfulness  for  safety  of 
herds,  115. 

Roman  Catholics,  190. 

Roman  Empire,  scientific  studies  of 
social  phenomena  fragmentary  in, 
5 ;  cause  of  fall  of,  355 ;  prepared 
way  for  conception  of  universal 
brotherhood,  360. 

Romanes,  George  John,  on  expulsion 
of  strong  anti-social  birds,  113;  on 
mutual  aid  among  animals,  114; 
on  watchfulness  of  elephants,  115 ; 
on  subordination  of  baboons  to  one 
chief,  115 ;  on  the  origin  of  speech, 
222  sq.;  on  the  distinction  between 
language  and  speech,  223  sq. 

Romans,  ancestor  worship  among,  291 ; 
a  patronymic  state,  297 ;  stages  of 
civilization  among,  299  sq. ;  effect 
on  English  race,  312;  influence  of 
foreign  born,  319  sq. ;  attempts  to 
reorganize  commonwealth,  320  sq. 

Rooks,  expulsion  of  strong  anti-social, 
113. 

Roosevelt,  Theodore,  an  aggregation 


of  animals,  80;  on  amusements  of 
the  frontiersmen,  121 ;  on  criminal 
element  in  the  West,  128  sq. 

Roots,  food  of  Blackfellows,  83;  pri¬ 
mary  means  of  subsistence,  87. 

Ross,  John,  on  sexual  relations  of 
Innuit,  263. 

Rota,  181. 

Rousseau,  J.  J.,  on  sovereignty,  37 ; 
on  primary  congregation,  94;  on 
social  contract,  358 ;  on  natural  and 
primitive  rights,  418. 

Royce,  Josiah,  382. 

Sabines,  310. 

Sachem,  161 ;  juridical  power  of,  281. 

Saints,  of  social  value,  148. 

Sales  y  Ferre,  Manuel,  sociological 
works  of,  15. 

Samoans,  less  sociable  than  Fijians, 
393. 

Santals,  tribal  organization  of,  165  sq.; 
restraints  upon  sexual  indulgence 
frequently  broken  down,  261. 

Saporogian  Cossacks,  polyandry 
among,  155. 

Savage  life,  main  social  activity  the 
feast  and  dances,  118. 

Savage  tribes,  customs,  laws,  etc.,  in 
common  with  civil  communities,  61. 

Saxons,  effect  on  English  race,  311  sq. ; 
feudalism  among,  296 ;  a  patronymic 
state,  297. 

Sayce,  A.  H.,  race  imaginary,  254; 
people  of  Palestine  before  Hebrew 
conquest,  310. 

Scandinavians,  preferences  in  occupa¬ 
tions,  339. 

Schaaffhausen,  D.,  description  of 
Neanderthal  skull,  214. 

Schaffle,  A.,  on  recognition  of  social 
will,  11 ;  classifications  of  sociologi¬ 
cal  material,  62. 

Schiattarella,  R.,  on  sociological 
method,  53. 

Schools,  part  of  the  social  constitution, 
171. 

Schopenhauer,  Arthur,  description  of 
history,  28. 

Science,  conditioned  by  density  of 
population,  367 ;  view  of  things  as 
determined  by  outward  states,  381. 

Sciences,  abstract,  see  Abstract  Sci¬ 
ences. 

Scientific  and  educational  activity,  192 


470 


INDEX 


Scientific  societies,  part  of  social  con¬ 
stitution,  171. 

Scientific  tradition,  tertiary,  141 ; 
analysis,  145. 

Scotch  Americans,  choice  of  occupa¬ 
tions,  339. 

Seals,  aggregation  of,  81 ;  family  rela¬ 
tions  of,  154. 

Secret  societies,  in  tribal  communities, 
173 ;  description  of,  181 ;  religious, 
organized  by  phratries,  282. 

Sect,  medium  of  individual  mind,  133. 

Seditions,  influenced  by  heat,  136. 

Seebohm,  Frederic,  on  habits  of  ancient 
Welsh,  81 ;  on  position  of  land  cul¬ 
tivators  in  village  community,  317. 

Segregation,  causes  aggregation  to  be 
composed  of  like  units,  19 ;  result  of 
like  exposure  of  like  units,  371. 

Selection,  conscious,  before  the  advent 
of  man,  202  sq. 

Selection,  natural,  in  biology  and 
psychology,  7 ;  new  field  for,  20 ; 
furthered  by  increase  in  birth-rate, 
89 ;  forms  new  characteristics  in 
dispersed  groups  and  individuals, 
91 ;  favours  stocks  bred  from  some¬ 
what  different  elements,  96 ;  pre¬ 
serves  mutual  aid,  114 ;  influence  on 
social  groupings,  154;  by  means  of 
starvation,  201;  effect  on  family 
types,  265;  action  on  variability, 
326  sq. ;  fixes  type  of  nationality, 
326 ;  effect  on  mode  of  feeling,  327 ; 
laws  of,  412  sq. ;  conditions  the 
sovereign  will,  418. 

Selection,  sexual,  a  factor  in  social 
evolution,  201. 

Self.  See  Personality. 

Self-consciousness,  social,  a  step  in 
organization  of  social  mind,  137 ; 
only  a  momentary  bond,  140 ;  of  the 
social  mind,  169;  evolution  of,  284. 

Self-realization,  final  subjective  ele¬ 
ment  of  good  and  final  criterion  of 
conduct,  407. 

Semites,  invasion  of  Palestine  by, 
92  sq.;  polyandry  among,  156;  an¬ 
cestor  worship  among,  290  sq. 

Senecas,  village  grouping  of,  162; 
household  arrangement  of,  277 ; 
phratries  among,  282. 

Sense,  social,  evolved  in  play-day  of 
childhood,  117. 

Sense,  moral,  132. 


Sentiency,  environment  of,  24. 

Sentiment,  predominating  in  the 
crowd,  150. 

Separation,  alternating  with  meeting, 
the  essential  condition  of  social 
deliberation,  151. 

Serfdom,  origin  of,  315;  how  made 
possible,  389. 

Serpent,  impresses  the  bird,  16. 

Sexual  pleasure,  an  element  in  tradi¬ 
tion  of  utilization,  141. 

Shadow,  effect  of,  on  savage  mind, 
247  sq. 

Slialer,  N.  S.,  on  relation  of  aggrega¬ 
tion  to  environment,  85  sq. 

Sheep,  aggregation  of  wild,  80 ;  know 
each  other  by  touch,  107. 

Shell-fish,  food  of  the  Fuegians,  83. 

Shelter,  element  in  tradition  of  utiliza¬ 
tion,  141. 

Sherwill,  W.  S.,  on  sexual  relations  of 
Santals,  261. 

Shooting  at  a  mark,  a  universal 
sport,  118. 

Shortt,  J.,  on  sexual  relations  of  the 
Todas,  263. 

Shoshones,  effect  of  scarcity  of  food 
upon,  83 ;  environment,  84  sq. 

Simcox,  E.  J.,  on  origin  of  drawing, 

248. 

Similkameen  Indians,  cooperation 
among,  115. 

Simmel,  G.,  on  the  ultimate  social  phe¬ 
nomenon,  15. 

Sioux,  162. 

Sirr,  Charles,  on  marriage  customs  of 
Veddahs,  268. 

Skulls,  evidences  of  successive  over¬ 
flowings  of  population,  311. 

Slavery,  how  made  possible,  389. 

Slavs,  patronymic,  297 ;  modifiable, 
326. 

Small,  Albion  W.,  sociology  an  or¬ 
ganization  of  positive  knowledge, 
12 ;  on  present  differentiation  of 
scientific  thought,  23. 

Smith,  Adam,  theory  of  moral  senti¬ 
ments,  122;  on  the  division  of 
labour  between  city  and  country, 
318 ;  on  division  of  labour  and 
wealth,  334;  on  interpretation  of 
progress,  358;  on  king  and  leader¬ 
ship,  390. 

Smith,  Munroe,  on  law  of  nationality, 
322. 


INDEX 


471 


Smith,  W.,  Robertson,  on  extent  of  ko- 
bong,  160 ;  on  beena  marriage,  268 ;  on 
marriage  by  capture  among  Arabs, 
286  sq. ;  on  ancestor  worship,  291. 

Social  class,  definition  of,  71;  com¬ 
position  of,  126  sq. 

Socialism,  195,  351. 

Sociality,  use,  74 ;  differentiations  of, 
126. 

Social  process,  physical,  363  sq.;  psy¬ 
chical,  376  sq. 

Social  science,  68  sq. 

Sociability,  of  animals,  79  sq. ;  chief 
factor  of  evolution,  206;  greatest 
advantage  in  struggle  for  life,  206. 

Society,  definition  of,  3;  distinction 
between  natural  and  political,  4; 
human,  interpreted  in  terms  of  nat¬ 
ural  causation,  7 ;  a  phenomenon 
of  conscious  association,  23;  neces¬ 
sity  of  adjustment  of  to  environ¬ 
ment,  413;  an  organization,  420; 
function  of,  420  sq. 

Sociology,  first  use  of  word,  6;  defini¬ 
tion,  419. 

Solidarity,  primitive  conceptions  of, 
244 ;  of  household  group  established, 
292;  of  country  and  town  estab¬ 
lished  by  democracy,  346. 

Solon,  attempt  to  organize  society  on 
property  basis,  320  sq. 

Somerville,  B.  T.,  on  games  of  New 
Hebrides  boys,  118  sq. 

South  Australians,  dances  of,  118. 

Sovereignty,  in  the  confederation,  285 ; 
developed  by  conquest,  314. 

Special  social  sciences,  relation  to  so¬ 
ciology,  22  sq.;  secondary  population 
classes  pertain  to,  125. 

Species,  marked  off  by  consciousness 
of  kind,  18. 

Speech,  means  of  communication,  109 ; 
origin  of,  222  sq. ;  action  on  con¬ 
sciousness  of  kind,  226;  relation  of 
desire  to,  226  sq. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  on  origin  of  social 
relations,  7  sq. ;  conception  of  so¬ 
ciety  as  organic,  8  sq. ;  formula  of 
universal  evolution,  9;  on  social 
statics  and  social  dynamics,  9; 
theory  of  reorganization  of  society, 
10 ;  on  possibilities  of  sociology,  17 ; 
adopted  word  sociology,  21 ;  on 
province  of  psychology,  23 ;  view  of 
special  social  science,  28;  use  of 


sociology  as  explanation  of  social 
evolution,  31;  adoption  of  terms 
biology  and  sociology,  32;  on  high 
fertility  and  mental  evolution,  43; 
on  classification  of  sciences,  46  sq.; 
on  aggregates  of  matter  undergoing 
evolution,  59;  impression  made  by 
essay  of,  on  social  organism,  62; 
conception  of  universal  evolution, 
63 ;  on  love  of  mother  for  babe,  108 ; 
on  origin  of  toleration  and  justice, 
114;  on  results  of  association,  122; 
demotic  societies  compound,  169; 
description  of  political  and  indus¬ 
trial  organization  of  society,  194; 
on  evolution  of  ceremonial  ideas, 
245  ;  on  nicknaming  among  savages, 
250 ;  on  present  giving,  280 ;  philos¬ 
ophy  of  history,  304  sq.;  civil  so¬ 
cieties  compound,  323;  on  birth¬ 
rates,  337 ;  classification  of  soci¬ 
eties,  354;  interpretation  of  prog¬ 
ress,  358;  on  the  postulate  of 
physical  philosophy,  364;  on  quan¬ 
tity  and  intensity  of  social  activity, 
366 ;  on  line  of  least  resistance,  370; 
social  activities  periodic,  370;  on 
differentiation  and  segregation,  371; 
on  multiplication  of  effects,  373 ;  on 
continuity  of  effort,  374;  social  ac¬ 
tivities  tend  toward  equilibrium, 
374 ;  motion  rhythmical,  375 ;  on 
re-representative  thoughts  and  feel¬ 
ings,  383;  on  pleasure  gained  by 
evolution  of  personality,  383;  soci¬ 
ology  an  organism,  420. 

Spirits,  primitive  ideas  of,  249  sq. 

Spix  and  Martius,  on  family  life  of 
Amazonian  Indians  of  Brazil,  155. 

Squirrels,  aggregation  of,  80;  aggre¬ 
gation  for  purpose  of  migration,  83 ; 
live  in  close  intercourse,  83 ;  social 
mind  among,  135;  family  relations 
of,  154. 

Stability  of  mixed  races,  324  sq. 

Stages,  of  social  synthesis,  73;  of 
social  composition,  73 ;  of  progress, 
299  sq. 

Standard  of  living,  definition  of,  123 ; 
explanation  of,  145. 

Standards,  integration  of  tradition 
and  current  opinion,  145;  mental 
life  of  society  expressed  in,  147 ;  im¬ 
posed  by  social  mind,  152. 

Starcke,  C.  N.,  on  the  kobong,  160; 


472 


INDEX 


Brazilian  hordes  metronymic,  265; 
horde  consists  of  members  of  many 
clans,  272. 

Starvation,  primary  cause  of  canni¬ 
balism,  113;  means  of  natural  selec¬ 
tion,  201. 

State,  in  constitution  and  behind  con¬ 
stitution,  35  sq. ;  chief  purposive 
organization  of  civil  society,  174; 
composition  of,  176  sq.;  constitution 
of,  177 ;  evolution  of  territorial, 
320  sq. 

State  Charities  Aid  Association,  192. 

State,  theory  of,  27,  34,  37. 

Static-kinetics,  59  sq. 

Statics,  explanation  of,  57  sq. 

Statics,  social,  9,  56  sq.,  60. 

Statistical  forms  of  comparative  and 
historical  methods,  68. 

Statistics,  methods  of,  64  sq.;  socio¬ 
logical  methods  compared  with  those 
of,  66 ;  of  corporations,  187  sq. ;  of 
labour  organizations,  189 ;  of  relig¬ 
ious  denominations,  190 ;  of  special 
religious  associations,  191 ;  of  phil¬ 
anthropic  institutions,  192 ;  of  choice 
of  occupations  in  the  United  States, 
339  sq. ;  of  suicide  and  insanity, 
348;  of  marriage,  birth,  and  death- 
rates  determined  by  degree  of  pros¬ 
perity,  367  sq. 

Stephen,  J.  F.,  on  the  origin  of  tolera¬ 
tion  and  justice,  114;  on  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity,  149. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  on  importance  of  as¬ 
sociation,  376;  on  differentiation  of 
environment,  413. 

Stevenson,  Mrs.  M.  C.,  on  secret  so¬ 
cieties  of  the  Zuni,  173. 

St.  John,  Spenser,  on  family  relations 
of  Mincopis,  266 ;  on  beena  marriage 
among  Dyaks,  268. 

St.  Paul,  conversion  of  conception  of 
universal  brotherhood  into  an  ideal, 
360. 

Stocks,  aggregation  of  like,  93;  con¬ 
gregation  of  unlike,  93. 

Stoicism,  405. 

Structure,  social,  sociology  an  attempt 
to  account  for,  8 ;  social  statics  con¬ 
founded  with,  57 ;  stability  of,  main¬ 
tained,  57  sq. ;  problems  of,  71  sq. ; 
definition  of,  72. 

Subordination,  development  of,  115. 

Subsistence,  means  of,  87. 


Suess,  E.,  on  Europe  and  Africa  in 
early  tertiary  period,  215. 

Suffrage,  extension  of,  345. 

Suggestion,  crowd  subject  to,  136 ;  sus¬ 
ceptibility  to,  a  mental  consequence 
of  association,  200. 

Suicide,  study  of,  130 ;  statistics  of,  348. 

Superstition,  144. 

Survival,  conditioned  by  association, 
43, 199  sq. ;  fixes  type  of  nationality, 
325  sq. ;  objective  criterion  of  ideal 
good,  403;  laws  of,  414  sq. 

Susquehannocks,  163. 

Swallows,  nesting  places  conditioned 
by  environment,  82. 

Swedes,  peculiarities  of  type,  231 ; 
segregation  of,  372. 

Sympathy,  social,  evolved  in  lay-day 
of  childhood,  117 ;  before  the  advent 
of  man,  199 ;  mental  consequence  of 
association,  200. 

Synthesis,  social,  stages  of,  73. 

Tacitus,  on  feudalism  among  the  Ger¬ 
mans,  296. 

Tahitians,  metronymic,  163 ;  sexual 
relations  of,  263 ;  more  sociable  than 
Fijians,  392. 

Tarde,  Gabriel,  theory  of  elementary 
social  phenomena,  14  sq. ;  on  conflict 
of  imitations,  111 ;  combination  of 
imitations  the  essence  of  invention, 
112 ;  social  mind  a  product  of  social 
logic,  134;  on  laws  of  imitation, 
400  sq. 

Tasmanians,  dances  of,  118 ;  origin  of, 
231;  family  relations  of,  269;  no 
capacity  for  progress,  328. 

Taste,  product  of  aesthetic  tradition 
and  current  criticism,  145  sq. ;  men¬ 
tal  life  of  society  expressed  in,  147 ; 
condition  of  membership  of  cultural 
associations,  190. 

Taylor,  Isaac,  on  kitchen  middens  of 
Denmark,  211 ;  two  types  of  man, 
231  sq. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  on  law  of  nature  and 
of  mankind,  330. 

Temperature,  influence  on  aggrega¬ 
tion,  19,  82 ;  effect  on  distribution  of 
population,  87 ;  relation  to  revolu¬ 
tions,  etc.,  136. 

Tennent,  James  E.,  on  the  social  mind 
of  elephants,  135 ;  on  origin  of  trade. 
280. 


INDEX 


473 


Territory,  of  social  value,  148 ;  primi¬ 
tive  conceptions  of,  243  sq. 

TetzlafE,  William,  on  contest  between 
men  and  women  in  Woodlark  Island, 
119. 

Theft,  where  prevalent,  349. 

Theological  tradition,  141,  144. 

Theory,  description  and  history  prece¬ 
dent  to,  70. 

Theseus,  society  reorganized  by  classes 
by,  320. 

Thompson,  D.  G.,  on  value  of  authori¬ 
tative  institutions  to  individual  per¬ 
sonality,  395. 

Thought,  interchanged  by  means  of 
language,  71 ;  abstract,  developed  by 
association,  122 ;  conceptual,  tertiary 
traditions  the  record  of,  141 ;  reflec¬ 
tive,  evolution  of,  a  result  of  social 
growth,  387. 

Throwing  at  a  mark,  a  universal  sport, 
118. 

Thunder,  imitated  in  Tasmanian 
dances,  118. 

Thurn,  E.  F.  im,  on  dramatic  imita¬ 
tions  among  Carib  Indians,  118. 

Tibetan  polyandry,  155  sq. 

Tibetans,  forms  of  marriage  among, 
276. 

Todas,  punaluan  family  among,  156; 
sexual  relations  of,  263. 

Toleration,  origin,  113  sq. ;  an  essen¬ 
tial  activity  of  association,  116;  a 
trait  of  the  social  nature,  123  sq. ; 
a  primary  tradition,  141 ;  analysis 
of  tradition  of,  142 ;  presupposed  by 
alliance,  142 ;  among  animals  partly 
traditional,  143;  social  composition 
a  mutual,  170 ;  before  the  advent  of 
man,  199;  among  primitive  men, 
242  sq. 

Tongans,  metronymic,  163;  tribal 
organization  of,  164  sq.;  similarity 
of  organization  to  that  of  Santals, 
166. 

Tooi-Tonga,  164. 

Topinard,  Paul,  theory  of  three  human 
species,  231 ;  on  primitive  light  race, 
237 ;  on  characteristics  of  French 
race,  31'2. 

Tories,  English,  345. 

Totem,  explanation  of,  158 ;  origin  of, 
250,  determined  by  luck,  251 ;  in 
relation  to  consciousness  of  kind, 
252 ;  relation  to  individual,  270  sq. ; 


purchased  or  captured  wife  adopted 
into  husband’s,  289. 

Totemic  kindreds,  in  Indian  tribes, 
161 ;  bond  of  union  among  Iroquois, 
164 ;  original  nucleus  of,  270. 

Totemic  signs,  social  bond,  160. 

Totem-kin,  167. 

Town,  a  genetic  aggregation,  90;  in 
demotic  society,  168. 

Town-meeting,  organ  of  public  opin¬ 
ion,  138. 

Township,  element  and  stage  in  social 
composition,  73. 

Toynbee  Hall,  192. 

Trade,  element  in  tradition  of  utiliza¬ 
tion,  141 ;  among  Indians,  279 ;  origin 
of,  279  sq. ;  flows  to  centres  of  relig¬ 
ious  and  social  life,  317  sq.;  last 
choice  of  Americans  among  occupa¬ 
tions,  339. 

Trade  Union,  189. 

Tradition,  transition  from  animal  to 
man  marked  by  genesis  of  varied, 
74;  economic,  143  sq. ;  integrated 
with  current  opinion,  145;  intellect¬ 
ual  product  of  social  mind,  147 ; 
before  the  advent  of  man,  199;  in 
relation  to  race,  253;  amplified  by 
periodic  festivity,  261 ;  development 
of  artistic,  278 ;  military,  283 ;  politi¬ 
cal,  285;  juridical,  281;  primary, 
141  sq.;  secondary,  143  sq. ;  tertiary, 
144  sq. ;  origin  of  the,  252  sq. ;  order 
of  development  reverses  order  of 
genesis  of,  306  sq. 

Tribal  chiefs,  wealth  and  power  of, 
294  sq. 

Tribal  nations,  163. 

Tribal  organization.  See  Organiza¬ 
tion,  Tribal. 

Tribal  societies,  territory  of,  84 ;  gov¬ 
ernmental  organization,  167 ;  social 
constitution  of,  172  sq. 

Tribe,  3;  relation  to  society,  4;  an 
element  and  stage  in  social  compo¬ 
sition,  73;  origin  of,  74;  medium  of 
individual  mind,  133;  each  has  its 
own  social  mind,  134;  definition  of, 
158;  metronymic,  160  sq. ;  Indian, 
161  sq. ;  relation  to  clans  among 
Hovas,  165;  patronymic,  165  sq.; 
explanations  of  origin  of  metro¬ 
nymic,  258  sq. ;  evolution  of  metro¬ 
nymic,  273  sq. ;  domestic  economy 
in  metronymic,  276  sq. ;  military 


474 


INDEX 


organization  of,  283 ;  changes  in 
organization  of  patronymic,  293 ; 
converted  into  an  institution,  315. 

Trusts,  188  sq. 

Turkey,  polygyny  in,  156. 

Turner,  George,  on  choosing  the  totem 
in  Samoa,  251. 

Tuscaroras,  163. 

Tyler,  C.  D.,  on  spear  play  of  Napo 
Indians,  119. 

Tylor,  E.  B.,  on  the  Fuegians’  banks 
of  shells  and  fish-bones,  83 ;  on  abil¬ 
ity  of  animals  to  alter  their  habits, 
143 ;  on  shell-heaps  of  neolithic  men, 
211;  black  races  moved  from  south¬ 
eastern  Asia  westward,  213 ;  on 
equatorial  continent,  213;  Europe 
furnishes  best  proof  of  man’s  anti¬ 
quity,  214 ;  on  paleolithic  implements 
in  India,  217 ;  on  the  Mincopis,  232 ; 
man  a  tool-making  animal,  241 ;  on 
savage  ideas  of  the  intangible  self, 
248 ;  on  influence  of  marriage  by  cap¬ 
ture,  286 ;  on  change  from  metrony¬ 
mic  to  patronymic  relationships,  287. 

Type,  of  ethical  life  in  social  division 
of  labour,  8 ;  of  group,  170 ;  of  family 
affected  by  environment,  265  sq. ; 
ethical,  superiority  and  fitness  to 
survive,  354 ;  of  population  of  social 
value,  404. 

Type,  social,  explanation,  148;  effect 
on  liberty,  149 ;  not  a  means  to  an 
end,  150;  of  ethnical  organization, 
158  sq. ;  differentiation  and  survival 
of  animal,  influenced  by  associa¬ 
tion,  199  sq.;  of  man,  231  sq. ;  of 
society,  326. 

Umbrians,  310. 

Union  league,  181. 

United  States,  a  demogenic  state,  299; 
progressive,  326 ;  social  constitution 
of,  332  sq.;  effect  of  immigration 
upon,  338  sq. 

Unity,  of  the  community,  140 ;  of  the 
ego,  379  sq. 

Universal  brotherhood,  conception  of, 
360. 

University  settlements,  192. 

Unlikeness,  the  foundation  of  percep¬ 
tion,  104;  explanation  of,  105;  of 
kind,  199. 

Utes,  effect  of  scarcity  of  food  upon, 
83 ;  horde  organization  of,  159. 


Utilitarians,  384. 

Utilities,  utilization  the  tradition  of, 
141 ;  objective,  methods  of  produc¬ 
ing  and  using,  an  element  in  tradi¬ 
tion  of  utilization,  142;  social, 
wrongly  placed  in  the  scale  of  social 
relations,  150. 

Utility,  subjective,  40  sq. ;  beginnings 
of  antecedent  to  society,  41 ;  final, 
41 ;  marginal,  41  sq. ;  initial,  41  sq. ; 
objective,  42  sq. ;  concepts  of,  42; 
subjective,  presupposed  by  alliance, 
142;  main  bond  of  economic  associ- 
tions,  186 ;  primitive  ideas  of,  239  sq. ; 
pleasures  of,  385;  second  criterion 
of  conduct,  406;  survival  governed 
by  organic  and  subjective,  414. 

Utilization,  tradition  of,  141  sq. 

Utterance,  expression  of  conscious 
states  by  means  of,  108. 

Vagabondage,  where  prevalent,  349. 

Valuations,  term  for  comparative  esti¬ 
mates  of  effective  utilities,  44. 

Value,  subjective,  40  sq. ;  primitive 
ideas  of  social,  240 ;  relation  of  social 
to  social  conduct,  401 ;  subjective,  a 
degree  of  esteem,  402. 

Values,  social,  137,  147  sq. ;  compara¬ 
tive,  in  the  tradition  of  utilization, 
141 ;  equilibration  of,  a  function  of 
economic  associations,  189. 

Van  Der  Rest,  E.,  on  sociology,  29 
sq. 

Vanni,  Icilio,  on  sociology,  15. 

Variability,  produced  by  crossing,  324. 

Variation,  relation  of  association  to, 
200  sq. ;  limits  narrow  in  normal 
health,  378. 

Veddahs,  detachment  of  families  from 
main  camp,  90  sq. ;  horde  organiza¬ 
tion  of,  159;  marriage  customs  of, 
268. 

Vengeance,  liability  grounded  in,  61; 
effective  sanction  of  toleration,  142; 
attitude  of  clans  toward,  281. 

Vice,  germ  of  all,  in  non-social  class, 
127 ;  study  of,  130 ;  where  prevalent, 
349. 

Vigilance  Committee,  174,  185  sq. 

Vignoli,  Tito,  on  differentiation  of 
man’s  conscious  life  from  that  of 
lower  animals,  381. 

Villages,  in  demotic  society,  168 ;  con¬ 
solidated  into  a  town,  168. 


INDEX 


475 


Vincent,  Frank,  on  growth  of  Johan¬ 
nesburg,  93. 

Vincent,  George  E.,  sociology  as  or¬ 
ganization  of  positive  knowledge, 
12. 

Vinogradoff,  Paul,  on  position  of  land 
cultivators  in  village  community, 
317. 

Virchow,  Rudolf,  on  the  Neanderthal 
skull,  214. 

Virtue,  social  germ  in  non-social  class, 
127 ;  first  subjective  criterion  of 
good, 405. 

Vitality,  classes,  125;  differences  of, 
340  sq. ;  ranks,  relation  to  psychical 
ranks,  342;  relation  to  population, 
342  sq. 

Vogt,  Carl,  on  offspring  of  mixed 
stocks,  324. 

Volition,  explanation  of  society  in 
terms  of,  10  sq. ;  conditioned  by 
consciousness  of  kind,  19 ;  in  which 
desire  is  the  sole  motive,  402 ;  im¬ 
portance  of,  416. 

Volitional  Association,  386  sq. 

Volitional  Process,  19  sq. 

Waitz,  Theodor,  on  tribal  organization 
of  Hovas,  165;  on  tribal  organiza¬ 
tion  of  South  Africans,  167 ;  on 
family  relations  of  Caribs,  269. 

Walker,  Francis  A.,  on  consumption 
of  wealth,  36;  denial  of  a  familiar 
economic  dogma,  66. 

Wallace,  Alfred  R.,  intelligence  of  more 
importance  than  brute  strength, 
203  sq.;  on  protection  afforded  by 
swiftness,  protective  colours,  etc., 
206 ;  on  Europe  and  Africa  in  early 
tertiary  period,  215. 

Wallis,  on  sexual  relations  of  Tahi¬ 
tians,  263. 

Walras,  Leon,  abstract  analysis  of 
economy,  12. 

Walruses,  supply  affects  size  of  Innuit 
villages,  84. 

Ward,  Lester  F.,  theory  of  organi¬ 
zation  of  society,  11;  theory  of 
artificial  society,  20 ;  on  present 
differentiation  of  scientific  thought, 
23;  on  social  statics  and  social  dy¬ 
namics,  57 ;  on  feeling  and  function, 
58 ;  man’s  erect  posture  due  to  brain 
development,  229 ;  on  pleasure  caused 
by  evolution  of  personality,  383. 


Wasps,  genetic  aggregation  of,  89. 

Water,  influence  on  congregation,  92. 

Wealth,  origin  of  desire  for,  22;  foun¬ 
dation  of,  123;  differences  of,  125; 
primitive  conceptions  of,  240 ;  in  the 
patronymic  tribe,  293  sq. ;  limited  by 
division  of  labour,  334;  increase  of, 
334  sq. ;  immoral  use  of,  354  sq. ; 
pleasures  of,  385. 

Welsh,  choice  of  occupations,  339. 

Wepauaugs,  village  grouping  of,  161  sq. 

Westermarck,  Edward,  on  family  re¬ 
lations  of  animals,  154,  264;  com¬ 
munistic  and  patriarchal  theories 
untenable,  263 ;  on  social  organi¬ 
zation  of  many  tribal  communities 
metronymic,  263 ;  on  primitive  fam¬ 
ily,  264 ;  Fuegians  patronymic,  265 ; 
on  sisters  as  wives,  267 ;  on  beena 
marriage,  268. 

Wetar  tribes,  marriage  by  capture  in, 
286. 

Whales,  family  relations  of,  154. 

Whewell,  William,  on  types,  63. 

Whigs,  180,  183. 

White  Caps,  174,  186. 

White  race,  characteristics,  238. 

Wife-stealing.  See  Marriage  by  cap¬ 
ture. 

Will,  psychical  determination  the  free 
use  of,  382 ;  collective,  418 ;  general, 
132. 

Will,  social,  recognition  of,  11 ;  deter¬ 
mined  by  consciousness  of  kind, 
20;  determined  by  social  values, 
150. 

Will,  sovereign,  determined  by  natural 
selection,  418. 

Woldrich,  J.  N.,  on  paleolithic  remains, 
218. 

Wolves,  aggregation  of,  80;  hunt  to¬ 
gether,  82  sq. 

Woman’s  Board  of  Foreign  Missions, 
191. 

Wood,  J.  A.,  on  tribal  organization  of 
Tongans,  164  sq. 

Woodlark  Islanders,  119. 

Woods,  Robert  A.,  on  University 
settlements,  192. 

World,  tangible,  141 ;  intangible,  141. 

Worms,  Rene,  on  present  differentia¬ 
tion  of  scientific  thought,  23. 

Worship,  of  social  value,  149;  of  the 
totem,  158. 

Wrestling,  a  universal  sport,  118. 


476 


INDEX 


Wright,  paleoliths  from  Trenton 
gravels,  218. 

Wright,  Carroll  D.,  statistics  of 
Knights  of  Labour,  189 ;  on  divorce, 

350. 

Wrong,  notions  of,  40,  45. 

Wyandottes,  163;  household  arrange¬ 
ments,  277. 

Young  Men’s  Christian  Association, 
191. 

Young  People’s  Society  of  Christian 
Endeavour,  191. 


Zebras,  protected  by  social  habits, 

205. 

Zeigler,  Oscar  W.,  on  division  of  social 
classes,  126. 

Zittel,  C.,  on  paleolithic  flints,  218. 
Ziwet,  Alexander,  on  solar  system, 
59. 

Zoogenic  association,  199  sq. 

Zoogenic  sociology,  definition  of,  73. 
Zoology,  relation  to  biology,  32. 

Zuni,  84;  secret  societies  of,  173; 
development  of  artistic  tradition  of, 
278. 


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